Lonely
LONELY
Cooking for one is not much fun
There doesn’t seem much point.
The smallest saucepan’s far too large
And if I cook a Sunday joint
It’s still around mid-week.
The supermarkets seem so vast
And I’m not catered for.
Although they have the things I want,
They’re all in packs of two or more.
And you’re no longer here.
Remember when I cooked for us
And ate by candlelight
Our favourite pasta recipe
You always said I cooked just right?
I never eat that now.
My dinner’s on my lap these days.
The television’s on.
I tune our favourite programme in,
Then realise once more you’ve gone
And let the image fade.
That tear? It’s just the onions.
You know what onions do.
It’s force of habit I suppose
That made me go and chop up two.
But you’re no longer here.
15th March 2023
Writing Challenge - 'L' words poetry contest
Sponsor - Constance La France
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