Funerals Are For Whores by Frank Reardon

In case you're wondering
I just got back from my
own funeral. My brains
feel like rolled dice and
probably look like cracked
corn. In case you're feeling
ill I left you a suicide
note next to the lamp stand
and yes I'm explaining to you
why Sloop John B needs to
be played while you roll
me out those church doors.
If you feel the need to say
anything say this, He tried
so hard, he was even decent
at writing. He had his faults
and demons but outside the
bar he made proper promises,
I'll remember you. So I sit
and wonder after my own
funeral if any of it ever
made sense if any of it even
has a purpose if laughter and
love is more than just evidence.


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