THE NOT-DEATH OF THE AUTHOR

day
of my funeral
already I was late

"Com'on!
Com'on!"
I told myself

eager
not to miss
my own wake

still
had an ounce or two
of living yet

and the onus
was on me
to use it up

still that
unfinished
poem to finish

but I couldn't
for the life of me
bring it about so that

I could be
properly  
dead

"Com'on!
Com'on!"
I begged the words

but
they weren't having
any of it

I tinkered with
a syllable or two
but the words were

adamant
stayed shtum
as anything

they pointed out that
they belonged to
a living poem

and if they were so to speak
to fall into place
at my behest

they would be
acting
posthumously

but they hadn't banked on
the wiles
of a dead man

didn't realise
I had been
writing it all down

and that their reluctance
to obey me would do
very nicely thank you

they felt they had been
betrayed...tricked
refused to attend my funeral.

alas for me
I hadn't fullstop'd
the poem

and am now obliged
to return in ghostly form
to do so

but all to no avail
as putting  a living full stop
is an impossible thing

for a ghost to do
I can still hear
the words laughing