Passing Thoughts

[saw]

When I first read the words
confusion set in,
I was either dreaming
or the Baltimore Sun
was delivered
to my final resting place,
don't get me wrong
it wasn't nightmarish
just surprising
reading your own obituary

I had always wondered
what people would say
about me when I left
my earthly vehicle
in the parking lot, yea
every morning I would read
that page fascinated
by what others thought
about the deceased
the strong points, I assumed
the marks they carved
in the tree of life

everyone seemed so accomplished
their graduate degrees,
their volunteer work, their inventions
the countless hours helping
little old ladies cross the street.....
what would folks say about me
I wondered......and here it was

Wordsworth A. Fortune
died yesterday of unknown causes.
Mr. Fortune, the son of Wellington
and Matilda Fortune was given
his first name by his father in the hope
he would one day become a great writer
much to the chagrin of all concerned
rather, Fortune spent his entire life
writing silly little poems none of which
he bothered to try to have published.
Family and friends alike never knew whether
Fortune was unmotivated, downright lazy
or just didn't give a shit about the recognition,
but many told The Sun that he simply had nothing to say.

All agreed that he locked himself for hours
in his attic every day crashing keys
on his Smith Corona late into the evenings
cursing, howling, and jumping up and down
on top of his oak desk, and on more than one
occasion had thrown his typewriter
out the window into his neighbors flower bed.
Fortune was known by may to be distant
introspective and opinionated
with no particular skills, adding that he liked
to have more than a nip or two at the local pub
and had a reputation as man that could
hold his liquor but not his tongue.

The family reports that Mr. Fortune has
requested that his ashes be stuffed
into the ventilation system of his favorite
poetry venue with the fan cranked up to
SuperBlow, there by effectively dispersing
himself all over the faces of his lame-brained
critics at the immediate poetry reading
following his departure, further requesting
that in lieu of flowers each of his colleagues
should write a "gooood " poem
to be incinerated with his body.

[hester_prynne]

Love it!!!!!
Really enjoyed....
H

[saw]

thanx hester...always like to hear from you....happy fourth of july !

[judih]

wordsworth
to name a kid wordsworth
is just asking for a smith corona in the garden


great piece, saw