I yanked the comb through the tangled mass one last time, but my hair still stuck up all over like a used toothbrush. Flicking a few bits of dirt from my trews and tabard, I checked my reflection in the shard. I poked out my tongue.
Poems by Piu DasGupta
For as long as ever I knew,
I’ve had two mums:
Mum One and Two.