INKSPILL Guest Writer Heather Wastie – Poetry – Spaghetti hoops

Spaghetti hoops

 

Seven tins of spaghetti hoops

left behind to taunt me;

a stubborn reminder

of happiness shared.

 

 

Innocent on soggy toast,

scooped on a fork,

wriggling in the corner

of a child’s crumb-encrusted mouth.

 

 

I struggle with her

half-remembered recipe for marriage,

without the crucial ingredient.

And yet,

 

 

sharing in desertion,

they are a comfort –

permanent,

steady as rocks.

 

 

Shopping for one,

the urge is irresistible –

better get another can,

for the weekend.

 

 

On Saturday

the kitchen cupboard smiles

with the laughter of children,

borrowed like cruets

 

 

from another man’s table.

Open the lid.

Another tin of spaghetti hoops

finds a way into their hearts.

 

 

© Heather Wastie

June 1994 / October 2010