Thursday, 16 October 2014
New Poem: Hand Dryer
It was late and before going home I thought
I’d nip into a cafe for a cup of tea and a
sandwich. I found one down an alley near
the station. They had run out of pretty nearly
everything but I got a tomato sandwich
and before I ate it, I went to the toilet.
I washed my hands and turned on the
hand dryer. What came out was a pretty
poor flow of air. Coming out in short bursts.
And it wasn’t very warm. And actually, it was
a bit damp. I was just about to leave the toilet
when I heard a cough. It seemed very near.
Like from behind the wall. Or in the wall. As
the cough came out, a bit more of the dryer
blew air. Then stopped. I thought that was
odd and I looked more closely at the dryer.
I touched it and it wobbled. So I got hold of it
shook it. I don’t think I pulled it but it came
away in my hands. I had the whole dryer in
my hands. On the other side of the dryer, in
the hole left in the wall, was a man. His face,
that is. The man’s face. He was standing
behind the wall, or in the wall, with his face
behind the dryer. All I could see of him was
his face. I said, ‘Did you just...’ And before
I could finish, he said, ‘Yep, that was me.’