Blue Glass and Bingo

I miss the rush of air,
all ciggy scented.
It would accompany you on every fleeting visit
“Nae stoppin’ just a wee hello”
your Glaswegian accent would
enlighten me in a gravelly rasp.

I’d make you a coffee
that somehow you never finished,
half a cup plonked on the draining board
before you left, all cold and forlorn.

I miss those countless minutes we shared,
between the smiling “hi hen”
and the “must dash ahm away tae ma bingo“

I would momentarily wonder what would it be today?
Tears, laughter or a piece of juicy gossip
picked up over the garden fence.

Sometimes it would be a gift;
a bit of blue glass,
a vase, a dish, a sweetmeat tray.

I don’t know what it was I must have said
to make you believe I loved blue glass…

I’d stifle my impatience at you
for bringing them to me,
I knew how much time and love
you spent in the charity shops
hunting them down.

I hadn’t the heart to say
how much extra work they caused me;
all that dusting!

Then you up and died…

Leaving me with countless empty minutes to fill
dusting blue glass;
watching the sun sparkle on it
seeing in it, your smile,
catching the tang of your tobacco tainted breath;
hearing the echo of your
soft wheezing voice,

"Hi hen, just away tae ma bingo…"