by Pat St. Pierre
The kitchen sink is filled with dishes;
tiny pieces of leftover food clings to
plates and bowls like I clung to you.
When first served, dinner was mouth watering
and flavorful like our love when it was new.
When food gets cold and tough it is no longer
acceptable to digest.
Our love took awhile to cool off but after
some time it changed.
We both went looking for another,
someone more palatable and succulent.
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2 thoughts on “Leftovers”
Pat is a gifted poet.
Loved this poem. It is sad but true.