There’s a patch of burnt grass in our garden
from the barbecue we threw in June.
The night you told her that you wanted to fuck her,
and she replied that you’d have to cook a better meal
I sat with my charred peppers by the goalpost
and thought of the feast I would prepare
wondering if it would be enough to get me there,
while she plucked the beef gristles
from between your teeth.
Chichester, May 2017