Sometimes when I miss you

I buy bananas

and I don’t mind if they’re unripe and stick

to the roof of my mouth.  I picture you – empty

purse in one hand, birthday bunch for mother

in the other – smack against a father raging

at your injudicious purchase; the imprudence

of your short-term thinking; the criminal waste.

The story was only of the judge’s fury.

I never thought to ask who tasted the exotic fruits,

how they looked (what shade of yellow, for example)

and whether they were sweet or puffy dry?

Was each one shared?  Did you eke them out

because of him until the last was shrivelled,

dark and weeping in a corner of your kitchen?

(Published in 14 Magazine, Issue 13, Spring 2012)

Following careers as a copy editor, juggler and woodcarver, Julia O’Brien relishes her new work as a casual library assistant in Lewes and nearby seaside towns. She has an MA in Creative Writing & Personal Development from Sussex University.