He made a pot of tea
every afternoon
at three, or thereabouts
a spoon for each, then one for the pot
pour the boiling water in, steep for a while
then tap the side with the tea ladle
to settle

she would arrive in the doorway at that,
smile ,“it’s made then?’
then sit beside him on the sofa facing the view

the afternoon ritual was always the same
had been for years,
and the view altered little
bar for the seasons

so they sat in the married silence
those who are of one soul,
where there is no need to talk,
you just know

the Rainbow cake lay pristine
in the wax paper,
turning to him
she said,
“one slice or two?, I’ll cut out the red piece, you like that”

lately he has had to walk the half hour each way
to the bakery business for their Rainbow cake,
those in charge had judged him too old to drive,
he minded not,
“the exercise will do you no harm”, she said

they made each cake spin out the week
as she loved her afternoons in the quiet ,
always made a fuss each time he left
by telling him to be careful crossing roads ,
perhaps that’s why he went
for in truth,
it wasn’t just the cake he loved