I saved you half of my sandwich.
It was Swiss cheese and bacon,
smeared with blackberry jam.
It would have been delicious,
if only you had been here.
The squirrels circled soundly,
whether hoping to see you
or taste your lunch,
hard to say.
I imagined myself holding it out:
“Here, this is for you.”
My eyes followed every car as it
passed the café’s porch,
but none of them was yours.
Maybe you would come on foot. But no.
The sandwich was warm, the cheese stretchy.
Not enough sandwiches use Swiss.
I was sure you would like it.
Eventually, I ate it.
I left most of the chips though.
And half the pickle.
I guess you couldn’t get away.
Then again,
you wouldn’t have said so.
The last time we had lunch,
after you left
I put my lips
where yours had left
a film of Chapstick,
and I sipped.
Do squirrels eat chips?
I didn’t ask them.
I flung them their way
just in case.
But I never checked if
they ate them.