Please mis-button my shirt
and make the jacket a size or two too small.
Diapers instead of pants,
and stuff my penis
for a beautiful bulge.
I'll need body-piercing,
a thick brass rod
going in one side of my head
and out the other.
Please etch tattoos all over.
Pull down the corners of my mouth
and put in a lit cigarette
labeled "The Eternal Flame."
On my feet the latest sneakers,
making sure they're covered with logos,
their rubber formed into shapes
like cake icing.
I would appreciate a sport coffin,
an aerodynamic wing on the back
and "Turbo" on the sides,
with ads for the sponsors of my death:
"Powered by Cancer,"
"XTreme Heart Disease"
and "Stroke: Ticket to the Beyond!"
Add bumper stickers:
pro- and anti-abortion,
and others proclaiming people and ideas
left, right and center
no better than Nazis.
Cash out any assets I have left
and stuff the bills in the casket,
visible to grievers.
All the rest should be paid for
with high-interest credit cards
and defaulted, then bankruptcy declared
with none of its stipulations complied with.
Weld the coffin shut after the viewing,
lower me to music chosen by
the least-interested philistine
and bury me deep.
When onlookers have gone
and I can relax
I'll give the devil a long hug,
squeeze out of the coffin,
percolate up through the ground,
emerge naked and new
and begin being nice to people.
© 2005 Mark Giffin