am the freshly dead husband,
I write my death to a fashionable wife:
Dear Dede with the new-bought guarantees, Dede
with the obsession to push hurriedly some
shared memories into my crowded box, crowded
with the two parts of me that were still alive:
brain and popylonkwe
still vibrant above the desolation of my other parts,
above the rotting of my stylish wrists.
I was not properly dead,
I could hear you chat prettily as I lay in state…
and what a state, involving an accident
with a supertobolo girlfriend still alive…
with a funeral cloth of the best style, paid
from the breathless anticipation of my retiring benefits.
Boxes and benefits, hearts and betrayal, ginnnnn!
How can you mourn me!
To shed tears you had to borrow
from the sorrow of your father’s funeral
held last year, when I couldn’t cry.
Together my actions and your inventions pushed
all grief to the children who,
not knowing any better, loved my carefree syncopations.
Dede with the black-brown eyes
whose shades were deeper in the left eye, I
salute your show of courageous grief when
you convinced my mother of the authenticity of your tears!
Bless you, your grief was becoming so successful
that you were, with decorum, fantastically enjoying my death.
I am dead but hungry for guavas…
I foolishly imagined the rainbow,
with its inappropriate joy,
torn from a sky that never gave me any sign till I was dead.
Dede, don’t let them push my hearse so fast, have
a little posthumous consideration
for my erection of the after-life:
a dead man can’t go to God with his popylonkwe at attention.
God forgive your speed
for you want to disgrace me before the ancestors!
Hurrying to bury me…
hey wait, the erection still stands…
was the horror for my mother, whose
tears, so bewildered, could not quite reach me
in my wooden flagless castle… she
was beginning to sense a picnic atmosphere,
demure girls danced in their walk by my grey skin
now spiritual at last, at last.
And I wish my funeral would panic!
Dede I agree I often betrayed you, usually
just at the point when you were
simultaneously betraying me, I
imprisoned you in my successes and excesses,
I took your gin and doubled it.
As I speak these words,
fresh ants crawl over me with their white eggs, I
noiselessly knock and bite my coffin! for
it is too tight for me to wear, I need a different size!
Dede, help me, I demand air-conditioning, I need
the coolness now that you never gave me!
But
your back is turned, you adjust your duku in the mirror.
You look in great fashion by my rotting chin.
Did you really have to try so hard
to stop yourself from laughing, as
you realized that I was dreaming
about being buried next to that girl that I REALLY loved!??
And she did burst out laughing as the last dust covered me…
And her laughter said: I was truthful about all my boxed lies.
Yes, but I will write again!
I see the ginnnnn of resurrection glass to glass!
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