When she doesn’t show,
toss out the bread for birds,
freeze the shrimp in Tupperware,
and forget the words—
all that awful sweet-talk
you practiced while you cooked,
the boyish innuendoes
on just how good she looked.
Plug the cork back in the wine
(the fresh whipped cream won’t last);
what was meant to be a feast
has now become a fast.
Take the pills the doctor gave
and try to get some sleep:
what you could not save
was never yours to keep.