Twice

by Peter Roberts

Everyone seems to get a shot at happiness,
twice, if you’re lucky – he was like a kid, dizzy,
tingly when they walked into the room. Bits
that had seized worked, air sweetened, the
colours were brighter. He worried about his
hair. Sang in the shower.

‘Requiescat in pace’ – utter disbelief, she
was gone. He had made a good life – home,
kids, superannuation, a pre-paid funeral
plan, travel. ‘If you hold sand too tightly in
your hands, it runs through your fingers’
she had protested. Regularly. A lot.

If he could reinstate her, change her mind,
would he? Lose the butterflies, his bounce,
the ‘I just want to jump out of bed’ feeling.
She would be waiting at the edge of town.
Baffled, he grabbed a hat and sunscreen.
She made the choices. Once. Twice.