We'll Stuff Her

My aunt loves beer.

It's a rare sight,
like watching a deer eat
another deer,
to see her
without a beer in her hand.

My aunt loves death.

It's a rare conversation,
like hearing a midget talking about
dunking a basketball,
when she doesn't mention
death or dying.

She is going to die.

She tells us everyday.

She will release her bowels
and take one last breath
just like the rest of us,
except,
I don't think
it will be soon.

Seems as if
she will outlast us all.

But when
she finally does
collapse,
we will grant her
death wishes,
as promised.

She wants us to play
"Sleepwalk"
at her funeral.

Easy.

She wants us to cry
and remember
what a lunatic
she was.

Done.

She wants us to stuff
her corpse
and place a beer
in her hand.

hmmm ok?

A strange request,
but we'll comply
and prop her up
at her funeral party.

We'll celebrate
her life
with her blank staring corpse,
saying,
Cheers to you tia!

You will be deeply missed,
you crazy drunk warden!