The Secret of Comfort

The blanket is red
Berry red
And soft
I carry it in a bag under my arm
Hidden
I walk quickly
Down the steps
Away from the road
I pass a little girl in a pink coat
Not one with sparkles and glows
Dirty pink
Honest pink
It is 10am
She holds a bag of chips
Her little black finger nails clutch the bag
Its greasy contents warming her
Her feet swing
A distraction from a sore dripping nose
She looks cold
I get cold
Lying on the floor
Underneath the window
Curled tight
Hoping the doorbell won’t ring
Three o’clock
The shrill buzz ricochets through my stomach
Around my head
Like a bullet
But less kind
I shout fuck off
Silently
Desperately
But it won’t go away
The intrusion
The interference
A few steps and a knock on the glass
I nod my way through the allocated time
Everything is fine she writes
In the log book which sits like a disaster under my chair
At least the hot chocolate stays in my stomach
This time
The red blanket comes up to my chin
Warm
Sparking as the electricity falls out of my head
Finally safe from knocks and bells
I hope the little girl is safe now too
full and clean
When the sun comes I will pass the blanket on
open up the secret dampen down the dreams.