Too little too late (a poem) πŸ’™

Paint flakes lift off under her nails,

He says nothing; only stares ahead.

His profile is imprinted on her memory.

She sees it in her sleep behind her eyelids.


When they argue, the sickness takes over,

They’ve promised so many times not to hate.

‘I cannot do this any more’ he sighs

And panic rises within her. What had she done?


The metal bridge, over a century old,

Across the Thames. How many have walked it’s length?

The choppy murk below them supporting tugs

And the river police boat creates a wake


They watch it split and race towards the walls,

‘I’m so sorry. I’ll get help.’ she promises

And moves her hand to touch his sleeve.

He shakes his head and pulls away.


‘Oh God, don’t do this. Don’t end it. Please!’

‘Rachel, we go round in circles.’ he faced her.

Red double deckers queued beside them,

‘No. We are not right for each other.’


‘I’m going home. My real home.’

‘I’ve ruined it. How can I save this?’

She cursed the tears which came,

So predictable. So pointless now.