keeps ringing for my Mum,
but between maternal absence
and my clumsy post-its,
I'm getting to know Louise
quite well.
She's originally from London, but
has moved to Lincoln. The jelly-jawed
'A' sound remains in her craw.
She hasn't slept well for a while now.
The chainmail tone of wage martyrdom
says she's been up finishing analyses
to the sound of trucker radio
while her supervisors zonk.
She's bright, despite this.
Perhaps they played her request.
Her smoking habit has rocketed,
thus says the crack in her voice
when pronouncing Ls. I'd quite like
to rescue her from personnel Niflheim,
suavely proffering a humbug,
having just decked her boss.
