Lifting swollen,

Steaming bags of Basmati,

From a steam-filled pan,

She glances nervously around,

As if to say,

" I hope this works out".

 

I catch her eye.

 

She's chosen chicken,

To brown,

To drench,

In Korma sauce.

At home,

It was always Quorn.

 

She asks,"Do you want a drink?"

Just as I'm losing myself,

In warm,doughy naan.

"Please",

I reply,

Muffled by spices.

 

As I gulp down Diet Coke,

From a cavernous pint glass,

Her Fiancee rests his legs,

Across her lap.

I smile,

And wonder where the years have gone.