The send-off

There was no gathering, no speech. You took my pass and hustled me out, handing me a bottle and a bunch of blooms. I checked the bag; there was no note to say what you’d valued, what you’d miss. On the bus, disappointment heaved herself up the aisle and slumped nearby, wrapped in an old coat reeking of grief. Within a week, the wine was gone, the flowers chucked on the compost heap, but I still see the note you didn’t write when I pass my empty mantelpiece.