there was always a boiled ham
in my Grandparent’s larder

for fifty long years
they sat around their kitchen table

the lace crocheted covering
filled with soiled crockery

and the shadow of Grandpa
puffing on his post-dinner Dunhill


the wild giant tortoises
​of the Galapagos Islands
mainly eat prickly pears

Darwin noticed
how they differed
from tortoises on neighbouring Islands

their shells so much thicker


on television a scrawny
-faced nutritionist

spouts on about how food
is a social super-glue

holding together this fabric of flesh
we call family

but I roll my eyes
flick the channel
to watch Coronation Street


I’ve been adding up
the minutes lost

since you convinced me
to buy the 600 watt microwave
reckon you owe me three days

that will be written in bold
on our divorce papers

beneath the long list
of irreconcilable differences