Café Noire

Black coffee and black tears.
We’re out of milk, and I’m running late.
I was supposed to buy some yesterday,
but I was working overtime again,
when Mum called asking if I was okay.
For the third time that day.
Yes, uh-huh. Yes, yes. Okay.
Yes, I miss him too.
We all do.

I ate cold Chinese and collapsed into bed,
before waking to familiar dread.
Took ten minutes to find my head and
then my shoes, hey wait a sec.
They’re already on, along
with yesterday’s outfit.
Mascara running down my face.
No need to change, I’ve been ready since the start.
Life hack: let your life fall apart,
until your sanity’s razor-thin.
Cut to me now dialling his number, in a daze.
My coffee cold, the empty milk carton flung
across the room in sudden rage.
A rage filled with regret, bitter and sticky,
wrapped in emptiness and dipped in self-pity.

It clicks through to voicemail,
his voice in my head:
‘Hi, I’m not here, leave a message instead’.
The following beep demands that I speak,
torturing me with a false chance I don’t have
and haven’t had in a while.
The tears reach my smile.
No point in asking if you might
be a dear and grab a pint.
The stores are all closed. They always will be.
No milk, no you, there's only me.

After my silent message, another beep,
that tells me it's over.
He can’t ever
call you back.
Get used to drinking your coffee black.

For more poems, please check out my poetry collection: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DBNBSHJJ

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