Want Ad For a Funeral Companion
I need a woman who doesn't mind being alone.
She's not into quail eggs but doesn't mind eating crow.
Does her own thing and is not one bit clingy.
A little bit tart but never saccharine sweet.
Slightly off the drumbeat is just fine with me.
A velvety pianist is what I don't need.
Call me a pig, but I don't like them fat.
For fat could mean an unabashed gasser.
Or a big yawner in the sack.
I need a lean black leather panther.
Or a rhinestone-studded wildcat-
She has to be witty, but I run far away from too silly.
She must live for poetry, more than she lives for me.
Likes rolling in stones and riding led zeppelins.
Slow dancing on the dark side of the moon.
She'll ride pink flamingos, just shy of the loon.
She'll fall in love with Van Gogh's fields of crows,
Salvador's melting clocks and twisting, spiral stairs.
She'll scavenge blue sea glass and musical snow globes.
Gently knead my jagged darkness into double rainbows.
Most importantly, she must make a vow to outlive me,
because at funerals I become a cracked, unwinding timepiece.
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