An origami widower's lament

Why’d you have to be spread over three desks, stashed
in the airing cupboard, two decommissioned wardrobes,
an obsolete sideboard and a broken down chest-of-drawers?

When it could be rolled right up –
not creased – or even soft-folded.

What about boxed, neat-stacked, floor to ceiling in the garage, or
kind of artfully wedged, crammed if you like, ether side of the boiler,
because its paper, paper everywhere, and – Honey - enough’s enough.

Not the dining room table. You know
a man’s gotta eat his dinner someplace.