Last times

There are no goodbyes, maudlin mental snapshot

because the last time comes and goes unmarked

unselfconscious of its own solemn slot;

just an idle stroll, boredom, the car parked

on a whim on the corniche, no special spot

or significant trajectory earmarked -

this I did here for the last time - caught

between synapses before anything sparked.

Years later, some banana yellow sunshine

not the same, but with a vaguely poignant slant

retraces steps along a waterline

and there must be a reason, but it can’t

recall spectacular whys. That the last time?

Did it fall so quiet, unnoticed, so offhand?