Brains for marshmallows

Viking funeral, shuffle board,

tiny bladder, your ex-girlfriends

These were the things of relevance tonight.

I had always wanted a viking funeral.
Now, I don't care much
for such postmortem pageantry.
Having walked down the aisle
behind your casket,
thinking about the wedding
that should have been; the
somber eyes of our friends
and relatives gazing upon
our sorry scene, I have no
desire in entertaining thoughts
of my future funeral.

Tonight,
We played shuffle board at the bar
that used to be a school house
Walt Whitman taught in.
I realized my bladder had shrunk
tremendously as I made my fifth
trip to the bathroom. My ability
to recite the graphic, handwritten
messages covering the walls of the stall
became quick entertainment for everyone,
while proving you could still be a poet
despite Walt's absence.
Tonight,
You were the bonfire of our gathering.
We sat around, gazing into
our shared and separate memories of you.
We tried to recall the names
of all the women you had slept with.
We knew it was nine, but could only name five.

the missing ladies taken to the grave.
we melted our brains over your flames,
trying to satisfy our hunger
for you.