How little I seem to have done today
How little there is to show
How busy I’ve been
It’s so terribly clean
Now I’ve tidied it all away

I think he’d be pleased
He was house-proud you see
There isn’t a speck of dust in it
And nor anymore
Is there gore on the floor
There’s a visitor due any minute

He’d have been mortifided
If I hadn’t tidied
Poor Mr McGinley
I sliced him quite thinly
He took it quite calmly
And was only alarmed
When his blood hit the ceiling
And started congealing before he could reach for a cloth
I was going to roll the bits up in the carpet
But he said it would ruin it
So I posted him piecemeal down the waste-disposal unit
I heard his teeth grinding
Did I need reminding that filth was bad for his health
And did I think the sink would clean itself
“That’s typical of you
And us with visitors due.”

Now the cutlery’s washed
I polished the cosh
I wiped down the walls
It looks terribly posh
So there’s nothing to show how busy I’ve been
He was always so eager to leave the house clean

As leave it he has
Run off with the neighbour and taken the cash
Or so I told the police when I asked them to call
I think that’s Plod now
Why doesn’t he knock?
I bend down and peer through the hole in the lock
Oh no! He’s lifted the lid on the drain

Up through the grating like toast
Pops the ghost of my dissected next-of-kin!
And though -thus far- he’s taken it calmly
The voice of my salamied sweetheart
Is bending the ear of the boy on the beat
“Don’t you dare forget to wipe your feet!”

Plod peers through the key-hole and we see eye to eye
He winks and says goodbye.