Unspoken Omelette

So there you were, your cheeks burnished by lack of sleep, your lips

just about touching, wavering on top of each other, 

waiting for something to form between them. I stood, watched as you rolled

a skimpy cigarette that bent so easily to your will, your gaze, patient, your

fingers teaching the rizla a gentle lesson.

That was seventeen days ago-I’ve seen you sleep now, next to me, across from me,

eyelids always a flicker, black hair smeared across your forehead, a crocheted blanket

protecting you from the troubles in the air. I thought I would help you through all this,

keep you close to my chest, tell you stories about hope, buy you your favourite cheese

from the expensive shop. 

Today, you cried whilst I made a cheese omelette and you smiled through your tears

when I brought you the plate, so proud of the rolled up eggs that would definitely

make everything all better, stifle all the shite inside, hit your protein goals. You stared

at the plate and I tried not to watch, mild irritation as the heat escaped in the steam, 

you took a weary bite and I went to the shop for milk.

I walked past the shop and went to a spot in the corner of a pub where no one knows me,

pint of ordinary, pork scratchings, I wish I still smoked. I know I can cry here if I want, here

I can be who I need to be today, the men at the bar won’t mind my snivels, their eyes deep into pints, caps pulled down hard over ears. I drink again, my phone tells me that you miss me, please come home and hold me once more. 

I stand, pull my jacket lapels up close to my face, big breath out, barman nods, good on yer son, get back to it, see yer tomorrow, I do the nod back, take through the door, forget to buy milk, take you in my arms again, no longer caring about the half eaten omelette on the table. 

We stay like this for days, time is broken. 

We stay like this till the sun comes out again.