The final week

It's been a funny old week
in "Suffolk" speak
In seven days GOH goes
on his way
seeking his current dream
leaving mine in tatters
I am not however too distraught
I still feel that sense of freedom
that somehow this was meant to be
Three discarded wives cannot all be
at fault
Bags are being packed, skips filled,
lawns cut, cats fed
Some of life goes on as normal
parts take on a surreal feel
Meals somehow cook, shirts get ironed
cars washed, fields ploughed
All the time the air hangs heavy
with gloom and expectation in equal measure
I am down but not out
Friday looms.