Barely three dessertspoonfuls into the turd,
and already I am regretting my hubris.
My colleagues expressions do not speak of
gobsmacked anticipation; Julie in particular
looks flushed and angry, as if
I have wronged her. The sheer effrontery!
Oliver is on the phone - I presume
to the papers, singing my praises -
tears breaking the severe contours of his face.
He is learning not to doubt me.
I push down another tongueful;
it tastes of cinders and hair
and hard-won respect.