Separate Aisles

I ran into you, in the store today.

We shared a mutual ‘Hello!’

The awkward silence, was tangible
and hung in the air, like winter fog.

I smiled, shrugging my eyebrows,
nodding stupidly, half raising a hand.

You plagiarised my performance,
adding an innovative side-step.

I wondered if you still had the penknife,
that I had given to you, that summer.

We had both scored our initials,
into the bark of the old Greenwich Oak;

You had carved a heart around both,
I had fashioned the arrow, piercing.

I thought of the tree, now matured,
faded love, among the branches;

as we walked down separate aisles.