Most of my body is scheduled (after death) for compost.
But few tit-bits shall be sent to relatives for them to roast.
[You haven't lived till you've tasted parts of Bri on toast.]
And my brain shall sit in a jar near Einstein's [not to boast].
(February 9, 2016)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I would like to be used as pig food to make up for all the bacon I've eaten