Chilly even in the sun
Sunday roast cooking
Hoping you'll come
Open bottle of wine
Breathing

Seething, once again
You've chosen a pub lunch
Who with? I ask,when you return
Oh the usual bunch, you reply
A lie, since when did the "usual" bunch
Wear red lipstick to a pub lunch?

The red stain glares at me from your collar
I let the stain slide, I pour myself the wine
I pick up the carving knife
That's been ready to slice
I return to being the wife

"I'm guessing your full" I say
Oh no, my appetite for your Sunday lunch is intact
Was the reply
And, why not you've not eaten food per se

Won't be a minute, I shout
Just dishing the meal out
Sit at the table I'll bring it in
This I say whilst taking off my wedding ring

I carry the plate to his place at the table
Won't be a sec I'll just go and get mine I say
The kitchen is chilly
But I'm not shivering
I pick up the knife that will end my being a wife.