When I’m anxious, my mum tells me to lie down and let each stressful thought pass by me
like a boat. Deal with them later, she says.
I’m lying down now; closing my eyes.
And I’m in France, standing beside the Champ-Élysées,
with the Seine running down the road.
Boats float past me; silent.
Through a window, I see a woman screaming and scraping out the pulp of her skull.
She pins the sloppy pieces onto a corkboard and connects the ideas with string.
Through the window of the next boat, I see a man eating toenails on toast.
He turns to me and smiles. There is a toenail stuck right between his teeth.
Through the window of the next, I see Rishi Sunak counting his money.
I’m still anxious.
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