(based on suggestions from @quadelle, @seanmelliott, @GretasTardis, @pinknantucket and @timsterne)
anything less than full
skinny bloody tie knots not an option.
Creating a funeral is almost impossible
an angry bearskin in a parcel.
Speed to Hungry Jacks; drunken
methods not recommended by professionals.
Past tense, present sense. I lift
my fork in slow-mo, smooth as
the Hoff on fictional beaches.
Don’t like the need, necessarily
but thrilled in the moment of death;
in real life through a common carcass.
I cannot connect his hanging jaw
with his past speech.
Only place it among details;
fat ties and mispronunciations
His white open mouth
sucks the breath from the room.
Today’s poem is based on suggestions from five peeps:
- @quadelle: If you're not already inundated with responses, how about: a life changing moment.
- @seanmelliott: Methods of tying ties (Windsor, half windsor, etc.)
- @GretasTARDIS: Bears! Forks! David Hasselhoff!
- @pinknantucket: What about "the need for speed"? Not that we like the need for speed, necessarily.
- @timsterne: Hungry Jacks, drunkenness, connecting with people you meet irl for the first time...
My grandfather died a few years ago, and he was the first newly-dead person I had ever seen. I’d seen open casket funerals before, but not fresh, unarranged death. It is not strange at all (and also very strange) to drink hospital tea in a room with all your family and a dead person. Heimlich/unheimlich. And the only thing I could think about was how I was supposed to post all these items I’d sold to people on eBay, and how was I going to do it if I had to stay in Warrnambool for the funeral? Death makes me panic about the details, because if I think about anything bigger than Australia Post in that moment, I might implode. And he did always hate skinny tie knots.
'Memento mori' translates from latin roughly as 'remember the death'.