At night, you sit and you make plans
- Houses, cars, babies, insurance
Just so many plans, in case something
Does not work out
You share some with him

He knows about your little problems
The ones you don't talk about
In polite company as you sneak away
Take your little white pills so you
Can keep it a secret for another day

You make so many lists of things
Things needed to build up your dreams
Different lists for every dream
It's exhausting, exacting work
But you sit up through the nights

Do it anyway, asking for his input
You were a little scared the first time
You showed him a list, told him about
Your little habit. He didn't even blink
As he started debating the finer points

His ease, total acceptance, took you aback
No one had done that for you- no one
You always had trouble verbalising how
Much it meant to you but he understood
Not a word from you, but he looked you in the eye

And he understood. It was tough going
There were nights when he could not handle
Some other things- small things- like toilet seats,
Other males in your life, but never your lists
It terrified you some times and you had to leave

You took a long time- maybe, too long- getting
Used to his presence, his little habits as well
But the both of you stuck it out together
Despite your differences. He tolerated things
- Loved the things- others could never stand about you

The plans now included him. Despite your
Competitive behaviour and the slight bits
Of insane and inane that you were, he became
Part of your world. People generally had no
Place there but he became a common fixture

You slowly started to believe

"He was in an accident. We're sorry but nothing could be done.
Could you please come to the hospital
For identification immediately, Miss?"

Your plans broke down and you could only watch
As they tumbled down, down into the sea of endless despair
Your lists were all useless now. All that work that
Included him, useless. You couldn't believe it
- the plans, the lists! Barely a thing could be heard,
Seen over all that wasted paper, all that time

(he said he'd be back in an hour or so
you were supposed to go out for lunch)

Your breath stopped. It nearly stopped and
You could only clutch your head, grip your hair
As you struggled to get a grip on yourself
On your perception of reality. He was gone
You were here. And there was nothing else

You looked up, horrified at all the desks and drawers
You frantically ripped them all out, hunted them all down
Tossed them together in a pile on the floor of your
Living room. All those lists, now just worthless bits of paper
With bits of optimistic, fictional words on them

You hated yourself. You dreaded, loathed, badly wanted to
Hurt yourself. Not the other driver, never anyone else
You hate yourself and you knocked back more than
The prescription said and you lit the entire pile on fire
As you went back to sleep. Tomorrow was another day.
There were things to be done. But before you let yourself
Get lost in sirens, neon lights, the could-bes and the accusations
Present in your nightmares, you took another piece of paper
And noted down, 'Funeral'.