Ice Sculptures

He eats the food she’s prepared
Lasagne - cooked best from chilled
Pulled from the fire
Without gloves
She washes the dishes
And boils the kettle
"You want tea?"
A click and something switches off
He places his clean plate
Into the dishwasher
The smallest of the stalagmites
"I’ll microwave tomorrow" he offers
"And wash?" she enquires
"I suppose - if you want"
He talks around work
And she talks about work she used to do
She elucidates an anecdote
From some cold chamber of memory
A smile creases half his face
And a small puddle laps from
Underneath a blue palm