2

came home early, bagged off lessons. my secret cat is sat on a bin in the sun, boys are kicking a ball on the front; skinny, sunburnt town kids. i give a wave as i push the key in, get grins. the house has a good smell.
He is in the kitchen, through the crack in the door i see a bullet dangling from his lips as he scoops washing into the drum, leaning back and slamming the door with his knee. everything smells of washing powder, clean sheets; i can smell citrus shampoo on His hair, from the bath, from where i am in the front room. He doesn't see me.
i open the tank door and spray bubbles over with warm water: she stretches out for me to touch the white under her throat and lift her gently. i watch the humidity rise on the dial as she makes a ball round my arm, remind her no squeezing, then slide doors shut. she goes into her feeding bin in one enormous heavy twist, thinks i don't know she can move so fast. i pop warm mice in and the lid on. He still doesn't see me so i head upstairs, take makeup off, light some nag champa, start rolling a slow bullet.

i hear him loping down the corridoor. he starts when he comes in, me on the bed, lighting a spliff.
i didn't hear yous come in he says. leans down and gives us a kiss to the right of my nose then flops down next to me. lets out some big huffs, takes the bullet and tokes a bit, rearranges the gum and pops the roach in and out, tuts.