I can understand an epitaph
befitting of heroes and knaves,
but there is no respect in
plastic flowers on our graves.
“IHS,” “RIP,” those I understand,
but it would take an oracle
to comprehend, how faded plastic flowers
say something allegorical.
Perhaps a quiet moment would suffice,
memories of friends and family,
but what strange story does reside
within this plastic homily?
No headstones, please,
to mark my transition.
No comments about heaven,
or death, or perdition.
No quiet glade, with bench,
and leafy green bowers,
but most of all do not give me
those curséd plastic flowers!
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