Some day
You will front a darling little parade
And you'll be carried on careful shoulders
While your name flutters in the wind

Maybe I'll be among the crowd,
Or
(More predictably)
Waiting in the nearest bar
To read about it in the paper.

Maybe your
(Shaky, small)
wife will be there
In that elegant black dress
And she'll shed one single tear.
Not of sadness,
But of
Relief.


*"Ashes to ashes,
Dust to dust."