They expected some thousand people,
and about thirty showed up.
They put my grandmother's poetry
on tables for people to read.
They didn't.
It rhymed.
She wanted people to dance,
and instead they wept.
Complained about the food.
Some ******* made a pompous, "When I die..."
statement and I was left thinking [and half hoping],
"That can't come soon enough".
People talked about my grandfather more
than they even mentioned her.
Death is pretty ******* mediocre.