Tallies and Sums

He stood in defiance of common sense and lodging, praying that he wouldn’t catch his death of cold or by drowning. His mother made pies from recipes copied out of the pages of women’s magazine, her face a battlement of confusion, a Pall Mall smouldering in the ashtray, the filter salve with lipstick and stuck skin. He remembered sitting on the cold linoleum floor watching his mother trouble herself with motherly things, a ketchup bottle bowsprit with holes, his father’s work shirts stained through with sweat and aftershave, the cuffs split where his wrists strafed the desktop, his thoughts on tallies and sums.