Sunday Brunch

There is an empty egg carton
On the counter
And with two eggs over easy
I knew you’d been here

Dishes left unwashed
Soaking in the sink
Oil rises to the surface
Pale orange forms tiny rings

Coffee grounds managed
Half the journey to the trash bin
Waiting, patient
A smell distinctly bitter

A crumpled placemat
Tells me where you sat
Along with cup and spoon

Empty containers in the garbage
Lukewarm orange juice
I will buy more

A chair left out of place
Crumbs leave a trail
Those stuck to wet, worn boots

Lights left on
At midday
Something I would never do

A knitted scarf
One I made
Dangles off the table’s edge

All these things were left behind
But you could not be bothered
With one

Hello