Garlic bread

I am on my way home to my daughter.
I am hungry, only ate a Kitkat this morning.
The blow of the wind is pushing me faster
than my hunger, but my red curls will stay in place,
sweet, sweet hairspray. I am thinking about the
garlic bread in my bag. I am thinking about how
the check-out boy seemed reptilian.
I am thinking about how no-one seems to
wear sequins anymore, or feather boas.
I am thinking about my daughter.
I am thinking about my husband’s ashes.
I am thinking about how sublime his death was.
I am thinking about the pancakes in my bag.
I am thinking in panoramic. About glittering galaxies.
I am thinking about how misguided we all are.
I am thinking about our post-human futures.
I am thinking about how I was lumped together
with my husband. I am thinking about how I was
lumped together with my daughter. I am wondering
whether the garlic bread and pancakes will satisfy her.