A Song of Parting

We avoid each other’s eyes.

The fly on the glass enchants me.

He is riveted by my earrings;

Silver little things that sparkle in sunlight,

And dance with the wind.


Rip the bandage,

Painful and quick!

“I can’t do this!”

I repeat the oft told lie,

“It’s not you, it’s I”.


He doesn’t look at me,

But beckons the waiter:

With an unsteady finger,

“Bill please –

We are done here”.


I don’t often write poetry, and this is a shaky attempt after a long time. I would love to hear your thoughts and feedback. Thank you.