Saturday night

She looks across the room
the light from the television harsh on her skin
and sees the child in the corner

“Don’t you think we should bury it?”
she asks at no-one

Noel Edmonds pulls a lever and
an overly excitable man in a bad jumper
is drowned in a phlegm of green gunge

“Its been there for weeks now”

The credits scroll up the tv screen, a
eulogy to common sense waved off by
the cast of the programme

“I don’t like having it here”

But there’s no response
from the man next to her
just the occasional swish from the can
as he brings the lager to his lips
and a sigh
at the start of the next gameshow

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