I’m so exceedingly over incorrect
politically;what do you expect?
My kitchen’s not fitted
I don’t want it gutted
I am not going to be one of the Elect
I am not au fait with decor
I have never re- decorated before.
We had a new flat
And a Tottenham tom cat
What woman could ask her husband for more?
It’s Christmas and I am alone
But my husband is visiting this room
I heard his slight cough
And that was enough
I asked him was he worried by my moans?
I am feeling a little unwell
He looked down from heaven and could tell.
So he’s come for a permission
To abide by the decision
God made when my man was so ill.
I told him I have got some new friends
Who read my poems right to the end.
I hope that I amuse
And also bemuse.
As it stops me from going round the bend.
I said he can stay here and watch
As I sew up my skirt with a patch.
The moths were so vicious
They made holes in my knickers.
Yet somehow they still seem to match.
I know he is there by the door;
Because he has been here before.
I don’t turn my head
Because he is dead.
Yet he often-times crosses the floor.
I miss him,I miss him, I do.
How to live on, I don’t have a clue.
I am here writing stories
And studying mores.
So I wish he could polish my shoe.