She Loves him more in Death than Life.(edited).

In later years they sat across a wide divide,
Dutch fireside dolls glaring enmity
Identical armchairs fading day by day.
She loved him better in death than life.

Waking suddenly from afternoon doze,
Pipe smoke remembrance of long ago,
Dragging muddy feet on the carpet
From walking the dog.

Or with the grandchildren in the fields
Arms full of bluebells or wild primrose,
She scolded him then but how she yearns
Now, for the smell of wild flowers.

She would welcome the chance for
Forgiveness and to argue once more
About the cricket or the football games,
Even car-parts on leaky newspaper.

She misses ill-concieved anger
As he tried to pinch her bottom
Or silly Xmas ties and socks
Playing "Rudolph all day.

How he drowned his Sunday dinner
In blobs of brown sauce and too much salt
As she micro waves a frozen meal
Joints too stiff to reach the oven.

She looks at the cheap china figurines
His yearly gifts to her, remembers
Wishing he had better taste
But knowing he never had the money.

How, despite the dogs and horses
He put food on the table, never wanted
More than a cuddle, which she refused.
They were getting too old for all that.

She nods off again, sees him young and strong,
Lifting her over the style to walk the lanes
Where they once courted, snatched kisses
She loves him more in death than life.

© Lisa Fuller. February 2006.