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