What to eat for dinner,what to wear

What to eat for dinner what to wear
When to start to write,and what to bare
When to clear the  rubbish,take a break
When to throw stuff out or make a cake.

When to  think of my vocation in this life
When to be myself and when a wife.
When to clean and polish my own words
When to wash the pots and feed the birds.

Hierarchical my needs and wishes are
Yet randomly I act with unthought care.
When to write a list of what to do.
When to rest and, melancholy, think of you.

Do I feel the world’s a better place because I write?
Do I pass the time in fear of what awaits?
Do I need to take a long retreat?
If I am a  poet,I’m a beat.

Widows  have no obligations  like a  wife
In this way it is a simpler life.
Yet the word defines us by our man
Even though he’s lost and gone again.