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You Won’t Come Back

The ants that live under the fridge,
that door handle that needs adjusting,
a piece of sausage1 that wasn’t too dry
and a notice from the post-office that always comes late.
 
Withered plastic flowers, old notebooks,
the dim, red light of the answerphone,
an old skirt that looked too tight for you
and has been hanging on the balcony for over 20 days.
 
The flowerpot where we used to plant weed
and, as a cover,
a bunch of camomile,
now is sleeping wearily
full of cigarette butts
that don’t need watering.
 
You won’t come back, won’t come back, won’t come back.
 
Drawers full of cruel photos that give us away,
that poster from Holland that should be framed,
the toilet lid that’s always left up
and a toothpaste, dry and with its cap taken off.
 
Old books full of dedications
that now hurt so much,
socks that are dirty or, even worse,
that have lost their pair,
and, together with it,
all their usefulness.
 
You won’t come back, won’t come back, won’t come back.
 

• 1. Dried Catalan sausage like this one:

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