going my way

i grant you i am no easy man to live with
and when i am gone there is sure to be sighs of
relief going around, they would say,
he had his faults but he had a heart of gold
or words to that effect and i would hate the waiting
with the flowers wilting around me
and trussed up like a chicken
and how i would wish i could sit up
and scare the bejesus out of them mourners
wearing black suits and long faces.
they would think a stake through his black heart
ain’t such a bad idea but six feet under
in an iron casket gotta hold him for sure.
the pall bearers would grin and bear it
as they carry me away and drop me
like a sack of potatoes in a hole in the ground.
then they would stand guard over me,
make sure i am really gone
and some priest with whiskey on his breath
would curse the day i was born as he reads
from the good book.
so i would lie there in the dark
with mud in my mouth
and open up a can of worms.