At dawn I draw the curtains and roll into bed
where I dream till the previous evening
of old trains sucking smoke from the sky
and stopping when the man
lowers his green flag.
During the day my shaver
plants bristles in my chin
and my teeth produce foam
which I remove perfectly with a brush
after backcombing my hair into disarray.
Looking at where I’ve come from
I ease into a classroom
where students ask answers
before I give questions
and make notes before I speak.
And I feel the pain before I see you
silently pass along the corridor
and remember that soon
I will bump out of you again.