Will there be tears
or will stones be cast?
Will the choir sing for me
or will some drunken relative
belt out “For He’s A Jolly Good Fellow?”
Will I be missed?
Remembered?
Of course, I’m assuming
I’ll live a normal life
and die a happy death.
But what if I’m found
in the gutter,
needle in my arm,
blood running through the sewer grate?
What if I’m
kidnapped,
beaten,
raped,
murdered
and fed to the wilderness?
Only sparrows and larks
to sing in my memory?
Whatever will be will be
and I am content
to let whatever be what it will.
Until ashes to ashes,
and dust to dust,
the dearly departed shall mourn.
