Boy...
By J.D. Salinger
Boy,
When you're dead, they really fix you up.
I hope to hell when I do die somebody has sense enough
to just dump me in the river or something.
Anything except sticking me in a goddam cemetery.
People coming and putting a bunch of flowers on your stomach on Sunday,
and all that crap.
Who wants flowers when you're dead?
Nobody.
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This is our tribute to a great writer. Rest in peace, J.D. Salinger. Technically, this is not a poem, but this snippet, this excerpt, IS poetry. Ah well, everything is arguable, I guess...
ReplyDeleteThis is all the space I could give him; he deserves it.
Found poetry perhaps?
ReplyDelete