I’d much rather talk to you in person

she said, and went on to describe the

unfortunate distance between them

in physical terms.

They’d spoken since ending things,

and then every so often,

but hadn’t for at least six months

and probably a little more.

She was the kind of person who

didn’t like talking on the phone,

but would do so to save herself

from speaking in person;

the kind one associates not only with books

but the shell-like emblems in them—

someone exhaled;

she wanted to meet with him

or some such emanation.

He was listening more to

the sound of her words,

less what she meant by them.

He was guilty of this often,

as if it were beyond his control,

yet he thought it strange that

after all this time

she pronounced those words

just as she used to.

Had anything changed?

In the kitchen at work

he attributed his feeling

more worn than usual

to this woman he’d known and her

incessant bent for torture.

He diced a red pepper—

What do ex-lovers expect?

 He should have asked that.

The clock showed he had hours to choose,

and whatever the verdict

he wouldn’t be sleeping

til many hours after.

With an egg on the boil, he

he watched with insatiable rivalry  

as a woman shook her hair loose from its net,

threw her apron in the laundry bin

and left.