Mailbag

Lately

My mortality and well-being

Has become of concern

To strangers or so it seems.

The Lawyer sends a note

Urgent, he says, you need to update

Your trust for $285.

I tried to tell him that we are in

Far worse shape than we were

Few years ago.

What is it all about? I ask.

He says you will find out

When you get here.

So we make an appointment.

A brochure arrives in the mail,

A scooter for invalids, it states.

Just for me

To help me

Navigate with some ease

All on my own

With a year maintenance guaranteed,

What a deal!

Then comes a letter from

A local mortuary

A family owned business,

They say, as if that means a lot.

Asking me to

Make an appointment

Confidential of course

To meet with their agent

In our house or

Their business place

A decision has to be made

Real quick,

The type, price and quality

For my everlasting repose

Or

If by chance cremation

Is my choice,

A type, price and quality

Of the Urn.

The letter says,

It becomes difficult

For my loved ones

To deal with such decisions

In time of so much grief.

What’s happening here? I asked my self.

Are these people trying to tell me something?

All of a sudden I feel glum

What to do?

Is it the Casket or the Urn?

I am sure I have no use for the Scooter

Not yet anyway,

Although lately my legs

Have been giving out on me

My eyesight and hearing shot to hell.

Though never pictured myself as

An invalid or dead for that matter

One thing for sure it would be selfish

To be put in a spot on a knoll

And as I enjoy the breeze skimming

Over my personal plot

My family would feel the need

To pay me a visit every once in awhile.

Place a flower or two

For the good memories

And then hate me for putting

Such a constraint on their life.

Or if they so choose to forget about me,

Then for them to live with some guilt would be hell.

Cremation is the way to go

Put my ashes in a cardboard box

If possible,

And sprinkle me near a rose bush

If possible, if possible.

I couldn’t sleep last night

Thinking about all the things

I should do, or shouldn’t do.

Notes here and there that I have written

On days when I wasn’t at my best

When I was bitter, envious, or disgusted

With life and everyone else.

Should get rid of all, that is if I can find them.

Diaries, journals, introspective nonsense.

Have I written anything offensive about anyone?

Or maybe embarrassing?

Get rid of it. I say, that is, if I can remember

Where it lay.

Nothing disgusting or obnoxious to leave behind.

I need to be remembered well.

That memory is what counts.

How about all the bad paintings

That are piled up, like what you see

In Goodwill Store for a dollar apiece.

I hate it when I think of all the time and work it took

To align and staple those stretcher bars,

Cut and stretch the canvas

Prime with two or three layers of primer

Then all that paint that went over it.

What a loss of time and effort,

And all that agony,

Frustration, and indecision that goes with it.

I feel glummer than ever,

The trees need to be pruned; they need to be sprayed,

Once, twice maybe 10 times

For bugs and diseases

But when and how? My memory is failing me.

The sprayer doesn’t work

I have to figure out what to do with all that liquid spray.

The roses need to be taken care of

The weeds, my god! How they take over in no time.

I need to be sure the house painter

Would take care of that second floor of the studio

Paint is peeling off

And the pipe underground has frozen and busted

I have to figure out how to fix it.

The dog is bugging the neighbors.

So many decisions to be made

So much to worry about

Why is life so complicated?

It is so beautiful out there

I mean the weather

I need to sit down relax and enjoy life for a change,

But haven’t I been saying that for so many years?

When do I have some rest and taste

Those pleasures that being alive bring?

Or maybe have peace of mind and tranquility?

Did you say SOON?