The cupboards
need cleaning, I'll turn them all out,
I can check all the contents and move stuff
about.
I'll rotate
the cans of the sweetcorn and beans
And won't
have to think what a eulogy means.
This floor is
disgusting, I'll get it scrubbed clean.
I can move out
the chairs and sweep in between.
I can polish
the legs of the table and sink.
I can scour
and rinse and I won't have to think.
The table
needs moving, it's in the wrong place
And
tablecloth's edged with the wrong kind of lace.
It all needs
renewing or at least turning out,
Which means
no time to think what tomorrow's about.
I've dusted
the top of the doorway and door,
I've counted
the candles and twice mopped the floor,
Tomorrow's
the funeral, but I've no time to think,
As it's far
too important to scour out the sink.
