The room was bright and spacious,
four triangles of napkins folded ready.
We started with prawns
and then went on to something chickeny.
Our conversation dipped into areas
we thought we shared –
such as children and the politics at the university.
Somehow I realised you, more than your husband,
found this sort of entertaining daunting.
Then you suggested we move
into the conservatory
and we sat in darkness, waiting
as one, then two, black shapes
appeared round the corner of the fence.
Silently, without making a fuss
the badgers lowered their long striped faces
over the honey sandwiches you’d made
and we sat transfixed,
not daring to clink a cup.
First published in ‘The Interpreter’s House’ issue 20.
I’m feeling rather sorry for badgers and so decided to post this poem.