The jingle written beneath the carpenter’s sign.

There’s one image you remember from each job you’ve had.

An absent minded, gazing away image.

Ivy clasping the drainpipe on the side of the Co-op.

My first job was coffee.

My meta image was a clock.

All the baristas’ image was probably that clock.

Simple and grey, with gold hints if you moved your head around.

Black hands and numbers visible from

across the floor and the corridor of the arcade.

It took me two months to realise it told the time.

It was just the object I glared at as I stood at the till.

Flat white, extra hot, extra shot, coffee in first.

Circular clock in the travel agents.

I only realised it was in their shop when I left to go abroad.

For maps and their cut-price currency exchange.

And that clock. I still want to smash that clock.


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