After death visited, br they opened the house br as a museum br br it was easier than clearing it br but as br Health and Safety officials br were not happy, only one br at a time, perhaps two together, br were admitted br by appointment only br br there were photos of course br and framed copies br of the better-known poems br some ageing better than others br a scratchy recording br a rather musty smell br br a few years after I died br I went back to look br but the house and br its predominantly green writing room br and blue glass which br the sun peered dustily through br with the hideous 1930s fireplace br painted crudely over in 1960s taste in white br looked nothing to do with me br nor the photos br nor the poems br br so I abandoned what I'd thought br a rather cute idea of br being a friendly ghost br in my own museum br br it just hadn't come together br as a poem should br or a life br br but I left the laughter and the joy br for those who could hear it br br br br (For Wendy, a concrete image)br br Michael Shepherdbr br