When I’m dead, don’t cry for me,
don’t shed a single tear.
Just fulfill my final wishes,
all laid out right here.
I know it’s quite unorthadox,
even against your taste,
but I’m the one who’s dead here,
so please, for me make haste.
My only wish in passing
is to make for me a deal
that my family will partake in me,
as a Sunday meal.
I know I’ll be quite tasty,
marbled meat, yet lean.
I know I’ll be the biggest
rump roast you’ve ever seen.
Boil me, baste me, cook me up
however you so please,
serve me with a side of rice,
and some wine and cheese.
Light a couple of candles,
use napkins that are cotton,
make it a fancy gourmet meal,
so I’ll not be forgotten.
I may not have been the best
husband, friend or dad,
but at least I know that I will be
the best meal they’ve ever had.
Molto Interesante!
Love the Idea of death being the last supper of a person’s life!
That we eat that person - so to speak!
I’ll reread this and reply again, dear cousin!
something touching
and comic in this poem .
i can see again
thank you
better hope a German guy named Armin Miiwes doesn’t get wind of this poem, Cousin., and decides to contact you
Let’s just say he might fancy a bottle of Ciante with your liver.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Armin_Meiwes
(if you’re ‘dying’ of curiosity)
–lhw
Sombre and collected.
I like this one very much.
It inspires the same confusion of emotion as
Park Chan Wook’s Film Sympathy For Mr.Vengeance
(One of my favourite films)
So it was nice to find someone who appreciates this aspect
of humour and tragedy.
reminds me of a Salvador Dali ‘happening’ from the 60s
–lhw