The Long Way Home

You came by Tuesday after work.
Took your books and winter coat.
We talked about the plans a bit.
Then stood too long beside the door.
You checked the rooms one final time.
I held your keys while you got dressed.
You said you'd call about the bills.
I nodded though I'd heard the rest.
I walked you down to the station.
You said, "Take care," I said it too.
Your train came and the door slid shut.
I watched until I couldn't see you.
I take the long way home.
Past the cafe where we used to go.
I know you won't be waiting up.
I just don't turn the corner yet.
I take the long way home. One more block before I'm on my own.
On my own. Your key is in the kitchen drawer.
I should return it, but not tonight.
The rent is due in two days' time.
I'll send your half when I get paid.
I pass the cafe after work.
The table by the window's free.
I used to save that seat for you.
Now I just walk past quietly.
The streets are quiet after midnight.
The last train's gone, the shops are closed.
I tell myself I'm nearly home.
Then take the turn we used to know.