NecroPhillipa
I can’t afford the kind of perjury
To make me young and beautiful again
In this life: the best of plastic surgery
Is well beyond my grasp. Besides the pain
Is more than I could bear. Perhaps I could
Afford a burial arrangement, though,
With some funeral director who could
Create a loveliness from head to toe
With wax and paste and make-up that would turn
My corpse to something like I was the day
That I got married. Mourners then could yearn
For me as was, both hetero and gay.
..They’d gaze upon me in the casket there
…..Each one a-drooling a blasphemous prayer.