Fine Dining, with Foxes
By M.J. Turner
When you go away, I cook:
at night, late, resuming old habits.
I make the recipes you dislike, eat
alone at the bar instead of the table,
candle wax and cabernet dripping
down, beneath my bare feet.
I stand at the sink
after midnight, scrub pans—
with your brand of detergent, this time—
and look out the window.
A fox stands on the lawn, motionless,
staring back at me. It has your eyes.
M.J. Turner’s poems have appeared in Feral, the Lily Poetry Review, SWWIM Every Day, Nixes Mate, Spillway and other publications. She lives in Massachusetts.