Down to the last things, now: the last
loaf of bread, pint of milk,
cups of tea.
Leaving, we keep the flat tidier
for strangers than we ever
did while living here.
The last things we’ll have shared:
bread, milk,
little ironies.
*
A missed opportunity may still
exist; many are missed because
it seems they always will. And some
would do – but one stops taking them.
And so, I said ‘I’ll miss you’, as if
you will still be near, and I’ll
just fail to see you. No; not like that
at first. That is a later stage.