Newbiggin by the Sea Creative Writing Group

I will go tomorrow,
I really will, yet still
there is a nagging doubt.
Will the cat survive without
litter for one more day;
stay outside and woe betide
the neighbours' wrath?
Can I survive on beans on toast
live without pate? Some may say
that I don't need foie gras,
a relic of my past,
yet missed.

The teabag, strained, remains in the cup;
a top up for desperate times:
leaving a grimy stain, rusting away.
Tomorrow I may don my face,
put on mascara, lipstick, pencil brows,
quicken my heart and make a start on
the shopping list.
But that will do for now.