We drove down the South Island
with all our possessions.
Three of us, taking turns at sitting in the back seat
where toasters fell onto my lap occasionally
and provincial views were obscured by tramping packs.
In the back seat, I slowly became a luggage.
I even empathised with the suitcases.
We visited my mum
who was painting.
Three of us, undercoating the bedroom walls
where white paint ran onto stained wood widows
and old bedding lay across old carpet to keep it safe.
In that bedroom, my mum had slowly become a paint brush.
We all understood that.
We began writing CVs and Cover Letters
full of mostly accurate accounts of ourselves.
Two of us, proof-reading each others half-truths
where marginal ability became proficiency
and a passing hobby snuck its way into my Interests section.
At my laptop, I slowly become a Cover Letter.
Able only to speak in short and enthusiastic sentence structures.
You have to break up being a Cover Letter some how. We did this by watching Werner Herzog films, letting other peoples obsessions distract us from the mundane-ness of our own.