When you have gone home – New Poem (1st draft)


When you have gone home

I put the kettle on

to make tea for two

but you got on the train a while ago,

with a whisky headache.


We couldn’t kiss, my mouth blistered

from stress, weather and worry,

so we gabbled in child language

until the doors were about

to shut you out on the platform.


I nap in the single bed we slept in,

in the t-shirt you left on the floor.

Touch your small, blue glasses case

with the Specksavers cleaning cloth inside.

I miss you and your warm skin,

like a stone left to get hot under the sun,

so text

I love you.


I still have the first valentines card you gave me,

propped on the bookcase next to the desk

where I write everyday.


We watched a film last night

with an actor in that you don’t like, but

I do. Funny thing is, all I thought of was you.

I did not see him, but watched you act

in a very white wedding shirt

and black socks.