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Men in black ties, lined up like piano keys,
Fidget with small cups of unnecessary teas, made by women desperate to ease,
The pain of nothing left to do,
No one to please, the house cold and too clean, not like it's ever been,
But needs be at times like these,
The flowers and ‘how do you do's’, the ‘we're sorry to hear your sad news’,
‘And if there's anything we can do's’,
Just then the hearse arrives with my wife inside,
Smokers at the gate, hold their breaths, hesitate.....
You know it's the first time in our married life that she's not been unfashionably late,
I wish she'd just forgotten this date, taken annual leave of her senses and flit,
Anything else I could believe but this,
From this life she's been summarily sacked,
Without a bye your leave, an overnight disappearing act,
What exactly is there to grieve,
I'm too busy shaking hands to leave, and find her hiding under our stairs,
Or watching the telly in bed,
Making my tea or putting our shopping away,
Just give me a bit more time instead,
We'll both be fine,
Let me stay,
You and those black cars be on your way,
We'll be ok ...