A Wigwam for a Goose's Bridle

The first thing I did was change the sheets;
you know that crisp bed linen has always been 
a favourite of mine. There was stunning
symbolism in this fresh start, removing
your scent from my personal space, but 
also this was a practical step, a necessary chore.
You see, they were not just due or almost due
or even a little overdue
to be changed. You’d allowed
the dust mites and skin cells
to rest for weeks, growing layers of detritus,
sacraments of weaponised incompetence, 
symbols of our own decay
that had lain in state long enough.
May we all rest in peace.