Cramped and awkward:
my jeans press on jelly hips,
shirt rides up floundering belly.
I sit, irate and
dismal - knees pressed tight
against gearbox and wheel.

The spot under my lip aches
where I have picked it raw.
My white jeans show their
scuff-marks and the stains
in all their shameful glory.

I am a mess.
But my nails grow clean.