Funeral: (Yours, Or Mine?) {for H.B.} Poem by Shane Markie

I don't know what to wear to the funeral, so I go naked. Everyone is so busy looking at the coffin and crying that nabody notices me. An old woman nudges me. 'Why aren't you crying? Are you
made of stone? '

'Why should I cry? ' I say. 'I don't even know who died! '

'Then what are you doing here? ' she says. 'Who invited you? '
She begins to look around for sojmeone in authority to usher me out.

'Listen, ' I mention angrily, 'For all you know, I'm the most important person here! '

Suddenly, a look of fear comes onto her face as she eyes me suspiciously, streaming, 'You're naked! ' As the people turn to look, everything stops. Everyone shouts, 'He's naked! ' They're all surrounding me as if to cover my nakedness with their bodies.

'Nonę of this exciaement is necessary! ' I say. 'I'm no different than the rest of you! I just didn't know what to wear.'

Somebody yells. 'Look in the coffin! ' they say.

The crowd moves toward the coffin. Two of them hold me back.
It's hard for me to see what's going on, but I peek between the two men holding me and see the coffin being opened. It turns out to be empty.

I'm flung forward and thrown into the coffin. I say, 'This is all a terrible mistake! ' The coffin lid closes with a finality that convinces even me.

I notice how comfortable it is in the coffin, and it does seem right for me to be there. Nestling myself in, I listen to the music, I hear singing, I feel good. I realize now why I've come to the funeral.

Dressed as I am, I lie back happy.