Phillip Glass

When I die

I don’t want to be listening to Journey, Michael Jackson or Nirvana

The Doors would be alright. But not The End.

That would be too obvious.

I don’t want to die in a Walmart, McDonald’s or Home Depot

I don’t want to die by choking

or having a hair dryer join me in the tub

I wouldn’t mind dying in the desert from exposure

And though I never fly... in a plane crash...

I don’t want to die watching Jeopardy, HBO or one of those talent shows

And I especially don’t want to die watching an infomercial

or Fox News

I don’t want to die wearing women’s heels

Or a wife beater

Or a jock strap

Not that I ever wear any of those things

I could go naked into that good night

And dying on a toilet certainly doesn’t bother me

Preferably, I’d like to be wearing slacks and cologne

Two things I rarely wear

I refuse to die reading Stephen King, People Magazine, or Facebook

I don’t want to die in Mexico, Orange County or in an Indian Casino

I wouldn’t mind dying on a train

Or in a theater

Or during church

I once wanted to die in some sort of magnificent battle

But I was a kid

I wouldn’t mind dying chopping vegetables

Or writing a letter

Which I also never do

Any day of the week is fine for dying

But I wouldn’t want to die on anyone’s birthday

Anyone I like, anyway

Or on Christmas

That’s not cool either

I certainly don’t want to die constipated

Or struggling for breath

But that’s luck of the draw, I’m told

if I could have it any way at all

Death

It would be a hot August day

I would be planting something

crows circling overhead

With a train whistle far away

Anon anon alas alas

as if summoned by Phillip Glass