Shopping List
Eggs, milk, sugar, tomatoes, bread
are on my list as I go out to drink.
I've got them all while you are still in bed,
which leaves me with some overtime to think
on how we've ended in this state of grace
how much I love you, never mind the grot
the filth, the spiders, mice around the place
I'm grateful for the space that we have got
I want to hold you, tell you, 'Now's the time
to take our love towards the very edge
of trust.' Is holding back a heinous crime?
Now I come home, pretend to trim the hedge.
I read again the shopping list you wrote
and realise that it's your suicide note.

John Bevan
If you have any comments on this poem, John Bevan would be pleased to hear them.

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