Stan and the Brillo pad

Yes, my husband is a changed man since he died
I have dreamed of him so frequently he hides
One night we knelt down on the kitchen floor
With brillo pads in hand we scrubbed the door

Then we cleaned the oven for two hours
Death has given him such odd new powers
He never speaks nor asks me what to do
Thank the Lord our fireplace has no flue

I see more of him now that he is dead
For every night these dreams live in my head
He does not go to work nor write more books
He goes to Ealing and he wants to cook

Should I buy some ground in the church yard?
I have his ashes standing by the lard
In the fridge the suet waits for me
To make an apple dumpling for our tea

Oh, yes he likes to know what I shall eat
He starved to death,his heart was far too weak
But yet he likes to see me eat and sleep
And have a little cat next to my feet

So far I do not love another man
I shall become pan-sexual if I can
For then I need not worry who to please
I hate to lose myself but like to tease

Should my husband see me in the bed
With another pillow and a head
He might feel unwanted and be sad!
Yet he left me and now I’m feeling mad

Why clean the oven, clean the kitchen sink?
Why change the plugs and make the cat drink ink?
Why have breakfast, why eat bread and jam?
Why cook bacon in the frying pan?

Why go to bed when I shall have to rise?
Why get up when I shall later lie?
Why get washed when dirt comes back again?
Why wash my hair and use a fountain pen?

I wonder why the floor is full of mud
And whether nature gave me enough blood.
Life is so precarious use it well
Before all hear the tolling of the knell

I welcome comments and criticism

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