TWO FOR TUESDAY
She was an angel
with kinky hair
smoothed-down by
sweet-smelling gel
A voice that rasped like
grinding gears
When a novice drives a stick shift
She could spot
the promise
the talent
the passion
the desire
she nurtured it by fanning her wings
and pushing the nestlings into the air
for their first flights
Don’t throw my ashes off the mountain
over the desert
in a river or a lake,
or even the ocean which I love so dearly
Don’t lay on food and sing songs
celebrating the person I used to be
And especially
Don’t lay me in a cushy casket
And surround me with the aroma of
those sticky sweet funeral blossoms
no speeches
no parades
no weeping
just let me go as though
it’s the most ordinary thing
to pass from one room to the next
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