Normal, Henry: The house is not same since you left

The house is not the same since you left
The cooker is angry – it blames me
The TV tries desperately to stay busy
But occasionally I catch it staring out of the window
The washing-up’s feeling sorry for itself again
It just sits there saying 'What’s the point, what’s the point?'
The curtains count the days
Nothing in the house will talk to me
I think your armchair’s dead
The kettle tried to comfort me at first
But you know what its attention span is like
I’ve not told the plants yet
They think you’re still on holiday
The bathroom misses you
I hardly see it these days
It still can’t believe you didn’t take it with you
The bedroom won’t even look at me
Since you left it, it keeps its eyes closed
All it wants to do is sleep
Remembering better times
Trying to lose itself in dreams
It seems like it’s taken the easy way out
But at night
I hear the pillows weeping into the sheets.