I want my funeral to be
in a bright cheery room
filled with daisies, dahlias
and Queen Anne ’s lace.
I don’t like dark places,
but I’d prefer a closed casket.
I never liked people staring at me.
Instead, they could place
my photograph on top.
Maybe the black and white
snapshot of me posing
in my striped bathing suit
when I was sixteen.

I hope my family forgets
about the time I ran
around the house screaming
that a mouse was chasing me.
It was only a ball of string.
I want my kids to forgive me
and never mention the wild
Halloween costumes I concocted.
Suzie looked like Dopey the Dwarf
with over-sized rubber ears
and a stocking ski cap;
Bobby was supposed to be
The Jolly Green Giant
with Crisco and green food dye
smeared on his face.
They looked just fine to me.

For a hymn, I’d choose something
more lively than Rock of Ages,
and a little more subdued than
When the Saints Come Marching In.
A perfect gravesite would be
on the top of a hill
with a maple tree shading my plot.
It should be in an old cemetery
Where they still allow tombstones,
so my epitaph could read,
I tried, Lord, I tried.

From Jerkumstances (Pearl Editions, 2003).
Used here with the author’s permission.