In my box, with rictus grin
they could not straighten with a pin~
I lay before my friends and folks
and seemed to smile at silent jokes~

and some did wonder, what was planned
but little could they understand
how I looked on from up above
and hovered over those I love~

it all went off without a hitch
the biker said I was a *****
and with that word, the motley crew,
they blocked the doors so none passed through~

They dimmed the lights, to set the mood
and turned the music down to 'brood'
and every guest then took a seat
and fanned the sweat of stinky feet.

The biker wiped his eyes, and said,
'It's very hard to see her dead,
but it should come as no surprise,
that Nagi, with her smiling eyes,

made this request of all her friends,
and here's the list, and there's some pens.
She'd like you all to listen, while
her written works are read 'in style'.

And if one title strikes a note
of relevance, is what she wrote,
then jot it down and pass it to
the one beside you in the pew.

and at the end of every row
stood someone with a basket though
it wasn't clear where this would go
my friends and family had to know

the basket filled to overflowing
you read the one you picked, not knowing
I was watching from on high
and busting out, my old laugh-cry

'Twas several hours that had passed
and people dying to be gassed
Could this one be the very last?
the final poem that Nagi cast?

The friends and folk of my rich past
applauded, it was done at last!
and headed for the open air,
and as they reached the doorway there~

a book was handed to each guest
My dying wish, you'd all be blessed,
and finally you would have, to own,
a coffee table book, a tome

And every poem I ever wrote
contained within the pages, note
the title, it was all my own
'The Forced Readings of
Nagi Ramone.'