HOMAGE TO MY WIFE.
Having spent an hour or more
shut behind the bathroom door
sorting out my stoma stuff
I got to thinking life is tough.
I have this routine every night,
disappearing out of sight
trying to manage my faeces
with no end but just reprise. (repetition)
I should say, this activity
really takes it out of me,
and when I’ve emptied my innards
I’m exhausted afterwards.
So, I sit and write some rhyme
just to spend a little time
on my own in contemplation,
overcoming my deflation.
But, as I sit here and reflect,
I must admit to great respect
for my wife who diligently
has been cleaning up after me.
While I’ve been seeing to myself
she’s not been sitting on the shelf,
but doing chores about the place
making our house a homely space.
She does these things repeatedly,
as I do with my ostomy,
yet it is virtually unknown
for her to grouch, or moan and groan.
So, maybe I should take a leaf
from her book and stop my grief
and change my mind from melancholy
to something that much more jolly.
And, next time I feel life’s just strife,
I’ll ponder on my lovely wife.
B.Withers 2023
