a eulogy for hell’s newest arrival

Hello, darling husband!


Oh, this?

I just wear it when I don’t care what I look like.

It’s the same color as your eyes.

It doesn’t fit right,

but I like it anyways, I think.


I have a secret to tell you:

Labor Day was two weeks ago

but white satin looks so good on me

that I can’t bring myself to care.


Do you care?

Oh, you don’t?

How wonderful!


Your willow tree grows nicely when it has fertilizer.

Your backyard is a lush green paradise

when you’re not here to guard it.

Thanks for everything you gave me,

especially your mother’s candlestick from the mantle,

which I had to throw, still covered in gore, in the trash,

down the block,

to keep from being recognized.


I appreciate it!


Sorry I don’t follow your rules

(I wear white,

I sing loud,

I smash glasses,

fuck you),

but you’re not even here to enforce them —


So, I whisper to you,

from six feet away,

“Nice try, buddy;

but I look amazing today

and you can’t stop me.”

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