You were the prettiest girl in the Co-op.

You said it yourself, to the lad on the other till,
when I was in the queue.
You were just messing around, of course,
flirting a little, perhaps,
but it was true.

You asked me once, as you scanned my sausages,
if the sun had gone down yet.
You said you were starving.
I told you it hadn’t, and knew what it meant -
that a couple of drinks in the pub
wouldn’t be your idea of fun.

Then one day you told me you’d got a new job
and this was your final shift.
It might have been your way of letting me know
I had one last chance to ask.
I don’t think it would have worked out, in the end,
but sometimes I wonder.

You were the prettiest girl in the Co-op,
and wherever you are now,
I bet you’re the prettiest girl there too.