Flotsam

Flotsam

written by: Nigel de Costa

 

From our booth we had the ring-side view
as the drama unfolded before us,
stage-lit by the flickering glow
from the restaurant’s Christmas tree.

Two kids, mum, and dad sat at a round table,
privately schooled or so you thought,
their strange story played out
while we ate linguine and chewed steak.

Puzzled why boys would burst into tears
(did they not like their desserts?),
hugging their mum as if she were a Kisbee Ring
bobbing amongst their flotsam.

We watched discretely over our proseccos
as dad checked his phone on his knee.
“It’s time to go – shall I bring the car around?”
The only words he’d said to her all night.

And later, in bed, we picked it apart,
as scraps left on the underside of a carcass,
our bellies full and self-satisfied
we gorged feeling so lucky to be us.

You divorced – I widowed.