I looked for your long lolloping walk,
amongst yellow-scented lemons
and pomegranates
that could be mistaken for onions.
Past the flesh counter, past the milk, I stop
to pick up butter, knowing you wouldn’t be there.
I looked for you amongst the chocolate puddings,
the vitamins and tonics –
how was I to know you’d head for the freezer
and chicken breasts?
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