Mitch

I met you in the supermarket one day
By the takeaway counter
Surrounded by an aroma of curry and stacks of sweet cakes
In a layered metal display
That always manages to reach out and jab me in the hip
Every time I struggle the tipsy trolley past
Trailed by numbers Two and Three

You were a short scrawny man
With a weather beaten face,
Faded tattoos across your knuckles,
And a woollen grey and blue stripy hat
Pulled snug around your ears
My number Two caught your eye
Sweet and pretty and balanced on a stool
She smiled at you and said, "hello

You guffawed at her jokes
And cracked a few of your own
Then stretched out your hand and said
"I'm Michael but my friends call me Mitch
I consented to my hand being bone crunched
As you asked about Christmas and all things sparkly and bright
Then the laughter left your eyes
And turned so heartbroken

"My wife left me she wants a divorce¦
You blurted out and I stood there like protrusion
As your eyes began to shine
"She left with this guy, never coming back¦
Like a lemon, words became few
And far between

Then you smiled and apologised
Once, twice and then again
While I tried to reassure without being excessively compassionate
And said you had no need to ask forgiveness
Then with a flourish
My hand was once again pulverised
By your H.A.T.E.
Then you shook the hand of number Two and walked away

"Who was that strange man?
She asked as she shook away the pain
I could say someone sad and lonely
I could say desperate and clingy
I could even say that's why we don't talk to strangers
But I've been in the house next to Mitch
I've know how the air smells thick
And the sky is the colour of burnt umber all day long
The food loses it's piquancy
And people become life rafts floating just a short distance away

So I shushed number Two
Smiled at the diminutive hard man
With a undisguised tear in his eye
And said
"That was Mitch