COULD MY GREY MATTER BE PINK?

My husband plans way in advance,

While I sit here dreaming of romance.

He’s always been the reasonable one,

The one who has his head screwed on.

He’s been preoccupied with death,

We saw a lawyer, spoke at length.

I guess they did, I just sat there

Spinning sad tales out of thin air.

My brain won’t do what his brain does,

I ponder far more mushy stuff.

In fact, now that I’ve had a think,

I’m sure my grey matter’s actually pink!

I love crochet, make bags and shawls,

I’ve knitted sweaters, cardies, dolls.

I’ve painted crystal chandeliers,

Turned them to multicoloured dreams!

I’ve written romcom, mocked Donald Trump,

Poems about doobies, bunnies, frogs.

Stories about philandering smelly men!

And of strong women who get revenge.

My brain has screws for stuff like that,

Not business, wills or boring maths!

My filter’s rather wonky too,

It lets all kind of info through.

The will thing got to me today,

The thought of dying’s rather strange.

But I guess it’s good to be prepared,

At least that’s what my husband says.

I’ll leave my poems to all mankind,

So, think of me, and please be kind!

I hope you’ll read my romcom, too,

Rededicated to all of you.

My clogs aren’t popped, I promise you!

They’re Birkenstocks, and nearly new.

And now my pink matter’s lost its edge,

So, I should probably go to bed!