The Mistake

"It was the Nachos that did it."
I scrawl thoughtlessly into the grey paper,
While The Cockroach serves to brainwash us all
for the millionth time.

It wasn't really the Nachos.
It was the thoughts of you -
It was the sound of your voice -
It was remembering St Swithin's Day
that did it.

The realisation of what I am doing
brings me to a halt.
Scratching out each line, I laugh
And shake my head in disgust -
Or shame - or something like that, anyway.

Then, I leaf through the soppy rubbish
That I once fooled myself into thinking
was a collection of romantic tributes
To your handsome face.
What is it to me now?
Crap.
Or maybe it isn't - I'm not sure.

I sigh and turn back to the grill,
for some reason thinking still
of
The Mistake.
Or was it?

Oh, sod it.

This is as good as I'll get -

Me, the grill, and The bloody Cockroach.
Play it again, Sam...