Karen Bassey's "Trigger" is a short, tense farewell. The speaker hands over three things in quick succession: a shot of pain, a glass of love, and the broken pieces of that same glass. Read in order, they sketch a relationship that moves from hurt and tenderness to wreckage. The fact that pain and love both come in a "glass" suggests they were never really separate. The same vessel held both, and now it's smashed.
The final two lines shift to a quieter, more resigned voice. "Pour the wine out" sounds like an instruction, almost a ritual of letting go, and "probably my last with you" leaves a small gap of doubt. The speaker seems to be closing the door while not quite sure it will stay shut. The mood is raw but controlled: sad, tired, and a little bitter. The title may point to the moment something sets everything off, much like the pull of a trigger, though the poem itself leaves that moment unexplained.