After you

I reach up for the light switch
and put your box back in the loft,
the photographs where hard to lift,
Poison still lingers on clothes
I couldn't give to charity.
You told me to find someone nice.

I crumble thoughts into piles on a side plate,
scraping a chair at my table for doubt,
the waiters basket is subtle with shame
as he brings it to me once again.

I thought her email said 8:30
I must have read it wrong,
though I know I didn't.