Bill Yarrow is the author of The Lice of Christ (MadHat Press, 2014), Incompetent Translations and Inept Haiku (Červená Barva Press, 2013) and Pointed Sentences (BlazeVOX, 2012). His poems have appeared in many print and online magazines including Connotation Press, Poetry International, RHINO, Contrary, DIAGRAM, THRUSH, and PANK. ---------
Antigone Détente
I’m that age, I guess. People keep asking me
what I want for my funeral. I don’t give a shit.
Let the dogs lick my bones. Throw my ashes
out the window. If I die in the autumn, rake
the orange leaves over my arms. If you want,
go ahead and display my clavicle on your
mantel. Or pineal gland. Toss my heart off the
dock. Use me if you run out of caulk. Make
origami or a caftan or wicker furniture or a
raku pot of me. Tan my hide. Feed me to rabid
macaques. Dissolve me in nitric acid. Water
the garden of my face. Really, I don’t care.
Give Achilles free reign. I, Priam, absolve you.
So they asked his wife and daughters and sons
what they wanted for their father, and they said,
Put him in the ground; he wanted us to be happy.