I’m reading a book of poetry right now, and I guess I just couldn’t help myself.
The Unreasonable Dead
If I should die
in one of those terrorist attacks
where they ram lorries into pedestrians to train us,
I ask only this:
you must take a long walk every day.
I’m allowed to demand such things
because I’m dead, remember?
I’m a genie who makes wishes.
The urn on the mantelpiece is my lamp,
and the longer you go without rubbing it,
the stronger my powers become.
I’ll hold my funeral outside in a lay-by,
and all of the songs will have at least seventeen verses.
The eulogies will be given by lovers
of their own voices.
There will be no intermission.
You will only be given leave to go
when the sound of traffic bores you to tears.