I heard my husband unlock the front door last night.I never knew ghosts had to use keys…
Then I heard him again.I shouted, Get on with it. I’ve been waiting for you for 18 months and now you can’t get through the front door.What sort of spirit are you?And talking of spirit.I found a bottle of whisky.You should have drunk it before you died. What a waste of money.You know I don’t like it.
Then I heard him on the stairs.A pity I’ve not moved to a bungalow yet.
I said, I’ve been wearing your vests.He said
I think they look very fetching.
A bit late now.How did I know a woollen vest would turn him on?I bought some red underwear and in the end, I gave it to the Salvation Army.That was tactless.So if you are married ask your spouse what clothes turn them on.Then never wear them.Well, we are contrary!
When I wore a big woollen vest over my nightdress I didn’t realise I had fever.It was my kidneys.My husband never knew we had kidneys.He didn’t know what lungs were for but he had asthma, anyway.That was odd.Men!
Anyway, I may be confused but they seem to have the same programmes on TV as last night.Oh, I get it now.It’s the News.That Middle East, it saves the reporters looking at North Korea and Tibet.And the Isle of Man.They still have capital punishment there, you know.And the indigenous people have almost died out.Well, they all used to marry out and eventually they lost all their own DNA.Possibly in the washing machine.I blame Ariel myself.Ariel and Sylvia Plath; what a woman.She deconstructed poetry alright.And my mind as well.It’s just stuck together with little hooks now.I’ve cut my thumb in the kitchen, but did I write a poem about it? There’s a thought.Suppose I cut my own throat.That would give me something to muse over. I’m a bit too timid with knives.I keep them very blunt and never send them to Cambridge in term time.What more can I do? Stop eating!
Oh , do open that door.Can’t you see through it yet?I’m crying