I had to pinch my nose
The aroma was unpleasant
Tocsin rang in my head
Had it been a cooking contest
Someone would have failed
I push forward, topple, crestfallen
Leaning against the fence
Wondering why she left me.
I feel my mind on the edge of insanity
What could I have done so wrong?
I hear the wind whistle
Reminding me of her smile
I lick my lips in anticipation
Of a kiss that never comes.
In my weakness, I let my mind
Pile on the misery
Thinking of her warm body
against mine on a cold night
There goes another pin
In that small model of me
Hidden in a dark wardrobe
I hope they run out of pins soon…
© Anita Dawes 2021
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