it wasn’t her fault
a crisp winter evening don’t
you forget & if
he had chosen to confess
it would have saved
a mountain of heartache
nevertheless
7 days later he sent her
carmine colored roses
& a dozen chocolates
peppered with hazelnut
in gold leaf paper
he wouldn’t have known
she devoured
the confectionery
& dispatched the flowers
to her neighbor
not returning his calls
resigned he would linger
sitting on the same bench
from about 9 not
quite sane overlooking
the River Irwell
staring
occasionally glancing
passers-by drifting home
empty beer cans strewn
one forever in his hand
sorrows drowned
sad.
anyhow
it wasn’t her fault
the best friend said
the hunk of a builder
constantly flattering
is much better for you
instead