Ventilation at the funeral

I’ve been dead for a week.
You laugh, but you’d be surprised at what’s next. 

The funeral home loaned me a Makita drill, cordless

to drill some holes in my coffin; they think

for ventilation (you're laughing again) 
but the holes are really so I can see out, 

and watch the funeral, starting any minute now.  

And here they come, with their jello chins, which 
I would be moved by, except who the hell are they? 
Oh … them. Now I see them. Oh … but wait,
I didn't phone-call any of them, either. 

Goddamnit, I'm guilty too! Oh well … 

So there it is, the human race problem -
nobody around with much love, one to one 
until you die then here they come, 
on the double, and on the run! 

Emotional generosity is so much easier 
with an audience, people watching you do it 
in a group, all mise en scène'd out like that
and a big but appropriate party, later. 

But I'm like that too, and here I am 
tirading in a box, pining for love 
and company. Well, ok … now I know. 

I've learned, they'll see, you'll like it
when you get here; it's quite a place, 
I just came back from it to watch this,
and wait'll you see the clothes; you thought
you were going to be naked!

Oh, shhh … the funeral's starting. 
Better turn off your phone.