The plates on the table are mismatched –
a set of three robin’s eggs
and a fourth; hatching.
You glance at the crack,
a tail of an injury we can ignore, have ignored
with a drift of the eyes, a well-placed finger,
since the day you dropped it.
“Didn’t we have a decent set,
“the perfect kind, for company?” “No.”
“No,” I say. “Not anymore.”
You nod your head, and turn aside,
the matter forgotten again.
This one kinda made me chuckle slightly in a wry sort of way. It was sort of poignant and humorous at the same time. Thank you Shannon.
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Thanks! I can see where you get the humour from, I suppose, haha. I wrote this all the way back in our first year of uni, can you believe?!
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Oh! I thought you wrote it on the day you posted it!
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