Am I Difficult To Understand? Poem by cahen thrips

With a folding chair and an egg sandwich
I like to sit beside recumbent you and talk
about life; sometimes I read you a poem
though not aloud because I'm too often shy.
This time last year we saw a red kite here
and a little later an early chiffchaff sang
from its sycamore canopy. You said: this
is where I'd like to be buried. And here we
are - so soon - me forgetting not to talk
with my mouth full of bread. You in quietus.
And I must admit: now I add raw onion to
my egg. That's a change, true, and you'd
not approve but my obscure poems and
thoughts are still about love and you.

January 2023