Have you seen my biro?
Marla shuffles in her chair,
grumbles,
disturbs the cushion and crossword on her lap.
I had it only a second ago.
I am slumped,
hungover again,
but jump up, head spinning,
and search for the biro myself,
lifting magazines,
rifling through a bowl of keys
and junk.
What are you doing? Marla asks.
Looking for your pen.
Why?
You didn’t take it.
Did you?