Quick Lunch

We’re in our first year of marriage
And I’ve been struggling to write a poem about you all day
We sit at the table my parent’s donated
Eating ham and brie sandwiches
It’s a quick, clean lunch because I am working and
The dirty plates have piled up.

The first swig of ale from my bottle chuckles gently
As I pour it down my throat,
Aha ha, Aha ha
You drink last night’s chardonnay.

We ask each other non-sequitors
That don’t seem worth answering
Do you think Kate still has my old sideboard?
Will it rain at Glastonbury this year?
When do you think my order will arrive?

We’ve spent all day together at this pace
Surrounded by things we now share
My stapler, your laptop, bills,
a copy of Dubliners that could belong to either of us

I stop eating and look right at you
I think about our first year at university
And the way your long brown legs
Would fold messily beneath your bright summer top
As you sat down on the grass by the lake.
You’re still so refreshing,
Like a popsicle in August.

Sometimes when I realise you’re mine forever
It scares me so much the world stops making a sound
And I have to stare past your eyes into your face
To remind me that you’re solid
And I’m not going to break you.

I’ve drunk enough beer for it to have stopped chuckling
I get up, clear the plates, go to my study and start writing.