A bad taste
Laughter, catching-up chatter,
night cold leaks in as the door opens,
other diners sit, study menus.
One is a woman with her back to me,
I’d recognise that nape anywhere.
I wouldn’t say I hated her
exactly, but she makes me
prickly with the sense that
she’ll go home to laugh at me.
My bubbles burst,
jokes collapse and final forkful congeals –
a miserable full stop to a special supper.
She’s seen me and
I’ll have to say hello. I just will.
I rise braced,
and I see it’s not her after all.
Even somewhere else she spoilt my dinner.