Frank James Ryan Jr...FjR (A Collection of Select Works... / The City That Never Sleeps)
About th' Arrangements Upon My Passing...
I've left explicit directives
to those who i've chosen
on the event of my death.
And as per these directives
please understand and adhere-
that there be no pause, rue,
pique nor contestment
in carrying out these particulars.
No one, I said, NO ONE
shall stare at me
when I cannot return th' glare.
Closed caskets cost the same,
as opened ones, remains included.
However, you'll save on th' Borrelli tie,
and Gionfranco sharkskin,
i'd originally planned to don
with much pomp and circumstance
in th' late ninteen seventies,
when things had to be 'just so'.
Ornate? But of course!
Just think what a finale grandeur
it would have been for all,
during my day's with Dapper-D,
th' Disco King of Queens,
friday nights outside
Gambino's (Pasta & Loans... ahemm)
watching my back by smoking mirrors,
and everyone looked like mannequins
from Armani's on Madison West,
where only spoke-wheeled Eldorodo's
could park by the storefront curb-
as all th' others had been hooked and towed
to Giovanni's Seaside Auto............................,
and that was that!
Things are different now.
A tank top, and faded Kleins
will suit my sleep quite comfortably.
And, what's this grave nonsense
bout the cold damp winter sod-
chilling my marrow...My God, Maria,
it's only a shell of my mortal past
that will gradually decompose
no matter what size, shape or color.
In fact, it's the thought of '
that makes me bristle, more than death.
But they too, shall pass, my dear
by these breathless confinds of thick pine.
please tell me without quoting old wives,
'How could weather create any consequence
that would bear harsh effect on my bones?
This cortege of tales and traditions
to euphanize death's morosity -
be quite chilling in themselves, you know?
The practice of pathos and lament
may be therapeutic to those,
who will walk away-
and enjoy a free lunch,
at th' post-internment party,
watch another sunset,
two hours of FOX,
O'Reilly and Hannity
will make'em smile
for another day, month or year(s) ...(?)
But, as for me, my lov',
th' recumbent in sleep...is this-
when my clock strikes zero,
and Death whispers gently
that it's time I bid you a final goodnight
there should be no 'fan-fare' dealt
o'er this body, dead and cold,
which tells me clearly
that I'll be in no need
for a 'fan' to keep me cool,
or the 'fare' of shipping such an item
that would have to be made coffin-compatable.
Bottom line, my dearest lov',
is anything short of the skyward rise
of my Soul aflight to my Maker's Eyes
is simply a non-sequitur.
However, 'THAT' arrangement
is entirely up to'ME'!
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Frank J. Ryan, Jr.
Copyright © 2013
All rights reserved
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