Oyster Lovers

At Borough Market, near
London Bridge,
We pottered for a while.

Among the wild vegetables,
Dried mangoes and other fruit,
Two men were selling oysters
To shoppers in damp coats.

We'd said our goodbyes
Several months before.
The wounds still gaped like
Discarded shells on the floor.

He, out of kindness,
Opted to try the cheaper ones
Leaving me free to sample
The smaller, more succulent.

The vendors opened each,
Offered on plates,
Tabasco, black pepper,
Lemon juice.

Some we bit,
Some we chewed,
There were those we
Just swallowed.
The rain kept falling.
I thought I would burst.

And so, replete,
We retired to the pub
To seal our friendship
And cauterise the wound.
We rinsed our mouths with whiskey
And laughed, all the way home.