Dinner for Two

When I cleaned the kitchen
and the counters sparkled
from the white vinegar & lemon,
he didn’t come.

When I cooked the ground beef & cabbage
and the garlic and onions teased
the nose and whet the palate,
he didn’t come.

When I put the daffodils in a vase,
and the yellow blooms brightened
alabaster place settings for two,
he didn’t come.

When I took the ice cream out,
and scooped into bowls
decadent chocolate and sinful fudge,
he didn’t come.

When the doorbell rang,
and a man stood there,
in a crisp blue uniform,
and a badge on his shirt,
I knew then he would never come.