I should have known from the retching crow

that passed on my way to the station

that morning. The signs were there

in the sprinkle of chocolate

on my cappuccino,

in the graph of plunging share prices

hidden in the newspaper’s entrails.

She’s gone; I should have known.

The signs were there this evening

as I made my way home in the dark.

They were there in the shreds of lettuce

in my takeaway burger,

in the fine print on the back of my ticket

if only I had known where to look,

in the rush of our hungry cat.

She’s gone; she won’t be back.

Published in Obsessed With Pipework

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