My Arrangements (Poem) by David Stillwagon

My Arrangements
by David Stillwagon

Don’t bury me next to my father.

Blacken me well done

And crush me till I fit into a metal box

That would look great over the fire place,

Or

You can gather a choir around the old

Tree in the park and flip my dust while the choir sings

Sorrowful songs for sorrowful occasions

Till the police come

Or

You could bury me in the kids’ graveyard

In continuous, never ending shuffling of

Little feet bumping their specter-like little

Heads on stone carvings of cherubs


Author bio:

David Stillwagon lives in Atlanta with his wife and young son. He started to write a few years ago as a creative outlet. He has a piece coming out in the fall in Mississippi Crow.