The stiff cold
In the air today, and
I was thinking what I might like
To become
Of me once I’m good
And dead.
There are really so many options, but right now,
I think I’d prefer
To be cremated,
Or something like that.
A starchy cotton jacket was
Such a bad idea,
Now I’m cold!
Sheer buildings leaning
Over me, on almost all sides.
Are crematoriums like that?
Must be, here,
I suppose...
But how warm I bet they are
And then you slip into death
At the end of it all and into
Those lovely, gorgeous urns.