While I’m Still Alive
Please bury me beneath a Palmetto tree
No need to mark the site
Perhaps scatter my ash off a tall stilted pier
On a clear quiet starry filled night
I wouldn’t mind if you toss my remains
In a city stamped white plastic bag
It doesn’t matter; leave me curbed
Alongside recyclables of bottles & cans
(Just like good ole Neighbor Dan
Who died of ragging alcoholism
[as per his quest]
God I miss his dark humor—
Being trash-bagged once dead was his morbid idea)
Any way, I don’t care
Knowing my spirit lives
So who needs some cushy, pricey, satin-lined box
Or grandiose mausoleum outhouse digs?
(Dignity often precludes the worst imaginable)
So let us then take a poll:
All you departed ladies & gents—
Please raise your hands…
Hmm… just as I figured; not a single response
So like them, I too am unconcerned
I’d much rather you exhume my book
Or maybe undo cancellation of this ‘site—
Either way… All the best
Which is a given while I’m still alive
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