skitty kittens

skitty kittens

 

both of us

 

similarly alone;

 

adrift in the ready-meal aisle.

 

avoiding home,

 

as we sigh out

 

the scent of early evening cider.

 

we could be,

 

we should be,

 

skitty kittens.

 

 

only we’re not:

 

because when I smile –

 

sheepish,

 

yet gilded with a confidence i try hard to believe –

 

you retreat into a well-worn shell.

 

 

born a reluctant optimist;

 

i try again, as you balance ice cream vs guilt,

 

and your eyes,

 

return small, hard, cold coals of Christmas-time.

 

 

the third time

 

comes through the shop window,

 

as you stare at me

 

like someone who has accepting drowning.

 

i try my best,

 

but my third-hand smile

 

does little to keep out the cold;

 

for either of us.