In the interest of
my final carbon footprint
(at least while I am a footed thing),
simple economy
least fuss
compact
& other high-minded principles
such as resting homogeneity --
it was to be cremation
After all, raised a desert thing
I had a lifetime
to prepare for the flames,
but then it came to me
that my fine black hat
carefully chosen to be
worn on special occasions
would look ridiculous
atop a pile of gray ash
& while I would have been ready
-- well, perhaps ready
in a resentful sort of way
acknowledging it was time
to go the way of my parents
who, both burned & buried
had no such anguish
over the fate of their respective hats
& had been right about many such things --
it was in no way fair
to subject this fine black hat --
manufactured
in the Massachusetts
innocence
of this soon to be unremembered world
to fit a justly oblong skull --
to the ruthless flame
of irreversible materiality.
So much for cremation,
but what of burial,
body of a suited man
fine black hat placed
deftly atop
concealing deformity & blemish
to make a dashing final statement?
No.
Sight of that shriveled face
its bony chin & woeful eye sockets
crowned by a fine black hat
would subtract from its finery --
demoted to decorative museum piece,
sub-exhibit
atop a skin-and-bones likeness
of a Victorian hat rack.
Final plans then
as the flames work up my arm
of Tombstone readings
where Big Nose Kate would finish me,
dust the hat with care, saying
"Here sits a fine black hat more worthy
of Blake's vast head than yours, poor sot"
at which instant with equal care
I'd feel obliged to retake her
while reading with impunity.
This would be how I came to leave behind
one fine black hat for this world
atop my Winchester
in an abandoned Cochise mine
next to these old bones
coyotes could not use,
for someone to resume the story
of a dark brim poised
at the razor edge of myth
October 2011