Ham

The last time I saw my dad we fitted a second-hand carpet in my
lounge. He produced a Somerfield carrier bag filled with ham
rolls.
I made tea and we sat on the settee, eating, drinking, admiring our
work.
Before he left he took two asprin for a stomach ache. On the doorstep I
waved him off, casually, confident in future projects, future goodbyes.
That night he sat on another settee and with the taste of ham still on
his lips he died.

I didn't eat ham for awhile - but the memory soon fades, and the hunger
takes over.