By prior invitation

 Death has its disadvantages

I doubt my funeral will attract a crowd
Although there will be those who - wounded
In past spats - will look for confirmation
That I’ve gone; that rudeness, cruel words and
Residue of northern angst are flown.

Obsequies are a time for spending less,
For my remains I’d choose a cardboard box,
A makeshift casket, straight from Amazon.
Garbage to garbage would be my excuse,
And yes the oven’s cheaper than the earth.

The eulogy? Who might I trust? I fear
No fibs, just glaucous words like “condolence”. 
Death’s awesome, not a reason to be bored,
No licence for a cliché avalanche,
No hollow tones, no sickly sentiment.

I’ll write the guff myself and keep it brief,
What’s needed could be done in thirty words:
He failed at school, wrote for the fun of it,
Then married well and, quite surprisingly, 
Helped bring two girls into this surly world.

So there we are in that departure lounge,
Blonde wood and cheerless secularity 
The chatter/mutter’s got to be suppressed
And music’s excellent for such a chore,
What’s more I know a rousing tune or two.

But here’s the snag. I’ll be there only
In an ineffective way. My index
Finger distant from the button labelled Play.
Others may brush aside my Schubert songs
My Mozart, Dowland, all my comfort zones.

As I’m converted into falling ash,
And Michael Bublé helps pollute the air,
They’ll nudge and wink and walk off to their cars,
“He would have hated that, no doubt,” they’ll smirk,
The living tend to have the final word.