I’m sure the poster girl moved, as someone
would when working on an all-over tan in, say,
Lanzarote, so that on her return to the Debt
Restructuring Centre, her co-workers
would face a week-long glow with unprompted
anecdotes of all-nighters and cheap alcohol.
The travel agent only moves her mouse,
pretends she isn’t watching while I weigh
a week of freedom with my card.
Walking home, I see an up-turned hedgehog
by the kerb, its black eyes collecting gold
rings from the sun. There’s human in the pink
toes, and the spines around the snout are flattened
back as if still on a sonic quest to save the world.