Say Cheers

These days her hair is grey steel,
she forgets I've known her through
the dyed days. The reds, the blondes.
Forgets I've seen her through the cuts
and growings.
Shoulder length, long, bobbed, cropped.
She's drinking two bottles a day.
Tonight she's making pasta,
I watch her bend to look into the fridge.
"It was full last weekend,
when they were all here." She brings out
salmon trimmings, a pot of cream.
Later over the last glass of the bottle
"That woman sat in front of us?" I nod,
"She was my age. I could have my hair like that."
Her eyes begin to spark and drift
as she tries to hold them to mine,
to conversation. I look at photos of her kids
ageing into adults on her walls.
"You can't not drink forever, what about me?"
I raise my water glass. Say cheers.