I want the dead
to stop dying,
immediately,
retroactively even.

I can’t handle another
dead dog,
dead aunt,
dead lover,
dead plumber,
dead fly even.

Why can’t we all
just live forever?
Learn to eat less,
tighten our belts,
scrunch ourselves
up to occupy
smaller spaces.
Cats do it all the time.

Or maybe grow wings,
go aloft, mingle
with all those buzzy
flies who won’t
ever be dying either.

Live in balcony tiers
in the stratosphere.
A sky full of people
blocking out the sun,
the sunrise and sunset.

Sounds like hell to you,
doesn’t it?
The overcrowding,
the dark, the starving,
the stink?

But just think how
sweet it would be
if your grandma
and her grandma
and her grandma too
were still around to kiss
all your boo-boos.

And look, there’s great,
great, great, great, great
Uncle Carl waving,
rising above the moon,
saying, Grab a beer
and head up soon,
the barbecue
on cloud nine
starts at noon.