Left Behind

Are those the remains of the starter?  Urgh!  Hummus and garlic, if I’m not mistaken.  You’re using the paper napkin.  You didn’t even remember a pen.  Cadged one off the waiter.  Which one is the jotting about?   The comb-over in the corner? The fat legs protruding from the lycra mini skirt? The repeatedly licked full red lips? The gaunt head with a scarf  tied tight to cover chemo?  You never care they might catch you in the act.   Can’t you wait till you come home?  Remember it in your head?  You used to take me everywhere, I was your second skin, better than any little black dress in your wardrobe.  Keeper of scribbles, lists, notes, annotations and secrets. I did warn you the bag was too small.  I said I wouldn’t fit.  I suppose you’re going to sellotape the soiled paper in the back of me.  Along with the gas bill envelope and return train ticket to Scarborough.  I’d have liked to have visited the seaside, have sand between my pages.  But you left me behind.