Pensioned off (revised)

In the morning I put on my coat
I snap out of my habit of yoghurt and fruit
and take to the sea in my boat,
have sushi for breakfast
and catch my sardines in a net.

I let house cleaning be a thing of the past,
or done in a blue moon.
I work out in my yellow pyjamas and bra,
with the wind in my hair and Bach on full blast,
while I juggle the dumbbells in tune.

I spray air freshener on my man by mistake
who’s spread out on the sun-bed to rest.
I say "sorry, my darling, I was in a rush",
then blow dry him, close his fly for him,
and tease him with my bristly old brush.

At noon I fix him lunch in his cabin
where he works on the budget
and he says, he is winning the race.
He thrives on computers and fiddles with gadgets.
And when he has time on his hands,
hides in chat rooms,
or ogles the girls on My Space.

He is careful with money, his outlook’s not sunny
for the future and pensioners’ rights.
Any cost puts him off, so we never eat out.
Crowds are too loud, the food is no good,
and tobacco smoke makes him cough.

As he does not like fish, he eats my sardines with a frown,
wipes his mouth on his dressing gown.
I say: "sorry there was nothing else for a catch!"
and I whisper: "next time you catch us a sheep."
and he says: "yes, the fish stock is very much down,
and, at least, these sardines have come cheap".

After lunch I recline on the deck
on my lounger
dressed gothic all black,
in my lacy new nightdress with stilettos and sunhat
and a glittering scarf round my neck.

Looking out for people on boats
I wave like the Queen when they pass,
in grand style and with grace move them on,
but I smirk and wink when they’re gone.

When I dance with the shrimps
and play tig with the swordfish
I don't want to be disturbed.
For the noise makes them flee and return in a huff
and then sulk - and that puts me off.

My afternoon passes too soon.
I drop the anchor and swim round the boat.
I use my harpoon for the shoals of anchovies
and later take pictures of clouds, a lagoon,
some sea gulls afloat, a remote sandy dune.
I am keen, too, on sunsets and snaps of the moon.

At nightfall we sail home, and I make a dish
of pot noodles with spinach and steak,
for my husband is starving and feels a bit weak.
He talks of old age and the minimum wage.
He yawns, rubs his eyes and keeps hardly awake.

I put him to bed and hope, not for good,
then I start knitting my diving suit.