Holly is calling me from the cemetery.
She wants to plot my future. She really wants me
to be considerate of my loved ones
in advance, to make all the arrangements
now so none of them will have to feel
the expensive thrill of it at the wrong time,
and she can make a place for me all at once
over the phone and spare every one of us
our pain and awkwardness. The facilities
I wouldn’t believe. They’re in a sylvan setting,
which means it’s like under trees with a very tasteful
horizontal stone so the grass around it
can be mowed off of my name and dates, and a twelve-
(or under)-letter characterization
engraved there (such as Dearest or Beloved
Or in my case Husband) would be visibly
permanent regardless of growth. She’s offering
today what she won’t call a once-in-a-lifetime
discount, but let’s face it, it sort of is.