his leg

was all shot through

with nails,

and bits of metal and plastic hinges. they functioned

just like a knee

he said

which was the most complex part of a person

to rebuild

except

for the shoulder. his neck

only turned right

sometimes

and his arm

wouldn’t extend

beyond

what he called (if there were ladies present)

“a bodybuilder

muscle curl”,

or (if there weren’t)

“wankers cramp”.

he answered phones

slower than anyone else

and occasionally told someone

to fuck off

if they called to complain

about arrival times. but he was on more money

than anyone in the control room

because the metal in his body

was enough to repair a russian space station

and he’d gotten it all

when we’d rushed his bike

through thick north london rain

because there were three alarms going off

in a small area

in Camden

and fear in the bosses of a burglary spree.

that was right, I think.