Poetic Divination

“At My Funeral” by Willis Barnstone

I take a seat in the third row

and catch the eulogies. It’s sweet

to see old friends, some I don’t know.

I wear a tie, good shoes, and greet

a stranger with a kiss. It’s bliss

for an insecure guy to hear

deep words. I’ll live on them, not miss

a throb, and none of us will fear

the night. There are no tears, no sad

faces, no body or sick word

of God. I sing, have a warm chat

with friends gone sour, wipe away bad

blood. And sweet loves? I tell a bird

to tip them off. Then tip my hat.