Tuesday, 9 May 2017

Humble pie by Grant Harbison

She smiled when I walked through the door
A quaint little place I’d visited many times before
“Good evening, sir,” she said. “The usual table?”
“Yes,” I replied. “Thank you, Mabel.”
With that fixed derisory smile
She said, “I haven’t seen you in quite a while.”
I hung my head in shame
And said, “It’s not always easy to take the blame.”
“Yes, that’s quite true,” she told me. “But as long as you realise that the fault lies with you.”
She led me to a table that was totally bare
Situated in the corner with a rickety chair
Devoid of cutlery and bill of fare
And with an inevitable sigh
I ordered a large slice of humble pie

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