© David Milligan-Croft
I remember what I was eating
The day I got your phone call –
Mediterranean fish stew,
From Marks and Sparks.
I felt the blast of heat
As I opened the oven door, taking in
The aroma of mussels and leeks,
As they sizzled under cellophane.
But, the phone always rings,
When you’re about to sit down to dinner.
It was you,
Calling before you went out
On a Saturday night.
We chatted and we laughed about what
We were going to do,
When we met up in London, the following weekend.
At some point, I don’t recall when,
Your tone seemed to change.
I think it was when I mentioned
Our upcoming trip to New York.
I asked if everything was okay,
And you said that you thought
We should stop seeing each other.
Simple as that. As though you’d just seen a bird fly past your window.
I screamed silently
With all of my lungs.
But there was no one present
To see, or hear.
Then I gently, replaced the receiver.
I looked at the bouillabaisse
And pushed the pieces of cod around
With my fork. The stock bubbling,
Like the acid in my stomach,
And I placed it, to one side.