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.’