Lost Property (Poetry)

I have your black umbrella —
you left it in the hall —
it’s hanging there, still waiting
collection since your call
asking had I seen it
and saying you’d drop by
your voice as full of promise
as any cloud-free sky.

I’ve kept this one belonging
abandoned in such haste
aware by now it’s certain
we’ll both have been replaced
unclaimed in all the flurry
of your rash deceitful life —
I’m left with your umbrella
and you never left your wife.