Bedsit

Kelly-Anne’s bedsit is smaller

than Marla’s sitting room.

The kitchen is a sink,

microwave on the draining board,

a shelf above

with one mug, one glass, a plate.

It smells of nail varnish.

Don’t say it’s nice.

I know it’s awful.

She winces,

grips her tummy.

You can’t stay here, I say.

I have somewhere we can go.

Not for ever.

But for tonight.