When I left you not yet deadthere was strawberry jam underfoot
from breakfast and I stuck there
with all you forgot and said
goodbye with a casual peck
as you waited, napkin at neck
for dinner. For that shallow
kiss, you gave back a stabbing
look, then spoon in fist,
your eyes dull, you turned
from me to mushroom soup
that needed salt and doctoring.
The waiter brought saltines.
