Finishing reading a good book is an odd feeling.
It’s like waving goodbye to university friends
at the end of your final year.
It’s like devouring a whole cheesecake
and waiting for the inevitable crash.
It’s plucking that chin hair then having
nothing to play with in boring work meetings.
It’s flushing that complicated poo and
walking back to your restaurant table and
not being able to discuss it with your blind date.
I put my completed book down on the coffee
table today in my empty flat and said
Well, what shall we do now? to a yucca plant.

© Carl Burkitt 2020