Autumn House Press

Poem for Dr. Spock

I too when I die do not wish
to encumber my friends with the burdens
of sorrow: I want a simple ceremony,
twenty minutes or so, a few poems,
a brief testimonial, a tear or two
against plain black velvet and
as for the corpse burn it, scatter
the ashes around my asparagus plants,
which need large infusions of lime,
or throw them in the eyes of my enemies,
and let the mourners go off to a party,
a staid one where the waiters pour rivers
of Dom Perignon and nobody has to worry
about money for once, and later
a wild one with live music, a reappearance
of the Bonzo Dog Band, if possible, and,
recapitulations of every drug popular
for the last fifty years, laughter
and solidarity for days. Let them stay
as long as they wish and then go
satiated, prepared again for the world,
and let the mouse of grief
gnaw at their hearts forever.