You came, you saw, you faltered.
A shuffled step that said so much.
The spring wind and rain pelted and battered the windows like
A dramatic drumbeat, yet,
You offered no answer at the crescendo.
You merely looked down at your slippered feet
As if willing them to turn.
For a moment I thought they may
Disobey you, but,
As the beat started afresh,
You slouched around like
Gravity was now too much for your rounded shoulders:
Leaving the house without a word.
You were seen in Bridlington a few years later,
With a small man with a ponytail.
Others said your Facebook status read “confused”.
I didn’t look, even though I desperately wanted to.
What good would it do?
I have my garden and the window seat I made for us.
You have a tiny man with a ponytail.
The roses have blossomed.