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03/23/09 - (1)
Eternal Acres
On that out-of-the-not-so-blue afternoon, less than a month ago, When your commuter jet nosedived into a cemetery Not five hundred yards from runway's end,
It never dawned on you that burial And all those inconvenient details left to one's beloveds Could be dispatched with such expeditiousness and minimal fuss.
Indeed, your family was spared the rigors of engaging a mortuary, Discussing the gothic ins and outs of cremating or embalming, The mundane arrangements of announcement and presentation.
The crash saved them considerable nondiscretionary expense. The de rigueur urn or casket and vault were dispensed with, As were a visitation reeking of overpriced hothouse floral sprays
And an officially ordained member of the church or state Performing the requisite rites of the dead, With his remuneration for showing up, mouthing through the motions.
Now that you've had three and a half insouciant, restful weeks To reflect on your kith and kin's good fortune, You're very pleased that your flight went down so fortuitously.
In fact, you've grown quite comfortable, ten feet under Eternal Acres, Covered over by, snuggled into, the jet's debris. Already, you've begun to get acquainted with your new neighbors. The whole melting-pot lot of you is getting along surprisingly well. You all seem to realize that it's in your best interests To keep to yourselves any beefs you may have brought with you.
These days, you take entrenched pride in how easily it's eventuated. If you had to do it all over again, You'd book the same plane, on the same day, to the same cemetery.
03/23/09 - (1)
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