The Corpse Slumped in this Chair

The corpse slumped in this chair is in my way
again. George, move it, can't you? Put it out
with all the others. Honestly. Today,
of all days I'd have thought there'd be no doubt
in even your thick skull, I want this place
tidy. Respectable. Not full of dead
and smelly cadavers. We'll have to race
to clear the mess. I will not have it said
my house is less than spotless. Half an hour
we've got, before they're here. Pick up that mop.
Look sharp. And fetch some pot pourri. Don't cower:
I won't eat you. But George, this has to stop:
I've found a leg behind the piano, and
look, in the corner. Is that Margaret's hand?

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