Post Mortem

I would like to die in my sleep,
peaceful rest becoming eternity.
But then again,
I'd like for them to find me
with a half-eaten turkey sandwich
still in my mouth:
rotisserie roasted turkey
on artisan sourdough
or Jewish rye bread,
with slices of heirloom tomatoes,
strips of thick cut bacon,
mayo and alfalfa sprouts
instead of lettuce.
They will all lament that
I didn't get to finish such
a delicious sandwich.
Then they will examine
my body and they will see
battle scars long since healed
and bumps and bruises
from daily life and
they will know that I have
lived a full life.
And when they cut open
my stomach, they will find
an eight-foot alligator
and they will know that
in some battles
the tables had turned.
Looking at the soles of my feet
they determine that I
had climbed many mountains
and stood on the shoulders of giants.
Though my struggles were many,
death had won at last,
as it always will.
A forever smile is still on my face
will cause them to say, "Clearly,
this man has loved many
and was loved by many."
And when the examine is complete
and all of their questions are answered,
they will open the door,
let in the poets who
have been patiently
waiting to claim my body,
who will tell them, "He was one of us."
Then will leave carrying me away
to the funeral pyre.
They will light the circle of fire ablaze
and recite my verses and remember when.
As my ashes rise
some laugh while others cry.
They'll all swear they will never forget,
but the memory of me
will only last four generations.
But, my words rise like a phoenix
reborn and so,
my verses, yes, my poems live on . . .
until this very day.