Nine Came and Passed

Uneaten sausage and mash.
That was the trigger this time,
That was all it took and then it happens again,
Like lights switched off in a building at night
One empty room at a time;
All except a single bulb that flickers and fights against itself
Thinking over and over sausage and mash,
Cooked just right for once, the potatoes creamy,
Sausages browned and steaming,
Onion gravy made almost perfectly for the first time ever.
I never left the kitchen, a wooden spoon fixed in my hand,
Stirring constantly for fear of leaving the pans alone;
Plated good enough for a restaurant.
But nine came and passed and it went cold, stayed uneaten.
So much emphasis placed on that meal of sausage and mash, and why?
Is this what it’s come down to?
A day later that bulb still flicks on and off, still battles.
Angry, bitter, that it was the only one to care about
That little plate of sausage and mash while the rest of the world
Lives out a life of importance.