Last Request
       

                I don't want to go out
                as the bride of Death:
                in a gown of bones
                and a moldy veil,
                tottering down the aisle
                gaunt and pale as a
                fading hope
                while the groom saws away
                on a soundless violin

        Let me clear out in a cacophony of color
            like a Dia de los Muertos figurine:
              my skull encrusted with glitter,
                gilded eyepits twinkling,
          orange marigolds heaped at my feet,
        my coffin strewn with bananas and limes,
as I jitterbug with Death in some roadhouse dive,
          a cigar in his hand, a bottle in mine,
        on an altar ablaze with a million candles,
        their gaudy flames a vivid din of cheers

Tweet

Copyright © 2013 Pamela Miller All rights reserved
from Miss Unthinkable
Mayapple Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission