As a child I wanted to be a car stereo.
My parents encouraged me.
They let me sit in the car at night.
Hours, shivering, smiling.
I would ease my fingers inside the cassette deck and just sit there.
I was willing myself on but nothing happened.
To me, anything was possible, it was simply a question of desire.
I thought that perhaps I wasn’t sufficiently motivated.
At twelve, I wedged myself into the idea that I would become a staple gun.
My two front teeth hung bunny low.
My mother told me that the world already had staple guns.
She said many staple guns were unsold and unloved.
The same thing applied to car stereos, but that never seemed to bother her.
I bit into two sheets of paper at every opportunity.
To my surprise, staples would occasionally fire out.
They never quite held anything together though.
The staples remained half open.
I blamed my bottom set of teeth.
They told me that they worked fine.
They added that it was the top set that was slightly off centre.
A scuffle broke out.
I lost some teeth.
I found some teeth.
They didn‘t fit in my mouth.
I threw them away.
Years later I thought I’d found them.