Corfu, Summer 2017
When I die, I would like a simple funeral.
No black clothes, except for mine of course
(slimming).
I would like everyone to tell stories
about how uproariously I made them laugh,
about how on our first night in Greece… actually not
that story.
Much too dark for a funeral.
When I die, I don’t want fuss, really, I don’t.
Just a modest service and a song or two.
Of course, you know which ones to choose. I did mention
them a few years back – in Greece, yes –
so if you were listening or
in fact cared about me at all
you would remember.
My funeral will be small as anything, just my very nearest and dearest.
There will be many disappointed not to have
made the guest list…
But my best parties always were
exceedingly exclusive.
Please tell Margaret that children are welcome,
just not hers.
When I die, there will be floods of obits.
I have attached a document detailing my
Greatest Achievements and most Endearing Failures.
Please distribute to all major news outlets along with
the included picture (taken in Greece, not that you would recall).
When I die, it will be perfect.
If only she were here to see it, you’ll say through a soft smile,
and gentle, appropriate tears.
And at that moment, just as the grief consumes your very soul,
I will rise from my coffin, float serenely to you and
punch you straight in the nose.
That’s for Greece.