Death: Proper Departure
I see the merit in Hemingway’s choice,
the sudden casting of oneself upon life’s garbage heap,
but I would like to go more slowly, part by part
from different categories: first perhaps arthritic fingers,
then, one after another, lower backs, numbing taste buds,
distended prostates, languid genitalia,
dimming brains, huge inoperative ears,
and other miscellaneous malfunctions —
all this of course over many decades so that
when finally one arrive at the place of refuse,
or rather, when the remnants arrive,
the rest having arrived before,
some sort of path is worn to indicate
the logic of closure.
Dumps should grow gradually;
one formed overnight,
although tidier,
is precipitous.
Published with permission of "Envoi," No.123
