Obituary Of A Dead Poet Poem by Mark Heathcote

One day, he'll have a name tag around his big toe
like he belonged someplace and didn't have far to go.
The slate will be wiped clean; all will be reimbursed.
His Caucasian toe is free of lesions and blisters that burst.
All that will be left shall be pages and pages of verse
and a body that can't afford a burial or the price of a hearse.
And few other than a priest will mourn or even attend;
as he can count his friends on one hand, let's not pretend.
The obituaries - let the 'record show, '
that custom tears did somehow flow,
and angels banked both sides of his coffin, row on row,
and God was in attendance as his guide when he died.
That God removed the name tag.
That God, in His heavenly ascendance, was by his side.
And God was in attendance, and some say even He cried.
The day they tagged his big toe
like he belonged someplace and didn't have far to go.