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.
Originally posted September 5th 2015