I wonder sometimes what would have happened
if our first date was a dinner.
How you would have spent the time
controlling your gag reflex
at my spaghetti carbonara
whilst across from you, I’d shudder
as you bit into your water chestnuts
and bamboo shoots.
How quickly I’d have drifted off
with your baking-led conversation
and my disappointment at hearing
you couldn’t stand avocado.
I wonder sometimes what would have happened.
But then again, I’ve watched you eat pasta
that my mother cooked,
just because she cooked it.