I’ll grant you the
worthiness of clocks,
turn-taking, no-diving pools, even
the occasional citation for
indecent or dangerous behavior, but
shall not shame me out of my
dream exit when I shed my
mortal shell, dressed for the
hereafter in green sequins and
Deco diamond drop earrings,
nestled among photos of my
beloveds, Ella Fitzgerald playing on
vinyl, as my crackling pyre
illuminates the dark and my
survivors toast with champagne.

Makes no difference to me
departing on land or sea;
I’ve no preference between
Viking or Gypsy.