By orangedream
Published: August 16, 2008
Updated: August 18, 2008
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Your glass of wine stands untouched
so does mine.
Because you didn’t come
the candle burned down,
wept wax on my best linen cloth.
It doesn’t matter;
the only thing that does
is you’re not here.

Don’t even mind the meal I cooked
was burnt
to a frazzle
or the hassle
to make a soufflé so it rose
to greet you
at half-past seven
the hour you’d customarily drop by.

A card would have been so very nice,
but I’ve still got last time’s
in the drawer somewhere.
Yes – here it is.
The one with the sheep,
a man and his dog.
I’ll pop it back down on the mantelpiece.

I guess there’s always next year,
that’s if I’m still here.
For a moment, I sensed your smile.
Could be I was mistaken;
another senior moment.
On second thoughts, I’ll have a sip
of that wine. Can’t have it go to waste.
So here’s to you, my son.
Shall I pour you another?

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