'When I'm dead you can turn me into catfood'

Bury my bones in plywood
And set my box ablaze;
Then cast me free
On the open seas,
So I may finally take my ease
And drift to where I damn well please:
A beacon for forgotten days.

Bury my bones in plywood
And scrape my skeleton clean;
So feline things
Can feast like kings
On brains and brawn and crackerlings.
Then stick the labels on the theatre wings
To remember where I’ve been.

Bury my bones in plywood,
Or maybe MDF;
Then hammer me in
With nails of tin,
My face composed in a rictus grin,
Or stick my corpse in a compost bin:
A happy, slow, productive death.

Russell J Turner - December 2009