The Screen

It seems all I do these days is stare at the bright white screen. The computer has the gall to stare right back at me as if it knows better. It flickers to black … in the reflection I notice my protruding belly. Where did that come from?
I reckon it happened after I poured that VB into my head. I pull up my shirt and pat my thirty-year-old hairy tummy in soft circles, trying to soothe something bad about myself. I notice my chest jiggling too.
It niggles me also that I might need a haircut and a shave. My hair is turning into the colour of ashes. It’s nearly getting too cumbersome to handle … The pulsating beat of Christine Anu’s song “Island Home” snaps away my self-pity.