The family will assemble
at Frank's Funeral Home
on Lexington Avenue,
except for Michele,
who will be home
smoking a cigarette.
Bill will give the eulogy
extolling my virtues,
though admitting
I was apt
to burn the pot roast,
leave the roll
of toilet paper
with one sheet remaining,
and forget
to water the flowers.
Everyone will shuffle
past my casket, murmuring
"She doesn't look
a day over seventy-five."
Back at the house,
they will eat chocolate cake
and argue over who
will adopt the dog.