Unbothered

Years later, I hold Louise’s hand 
on my deathbed and pass on 
with the usual expected regrets. 
The funeral is a grand affair —
sophisticated, ostentatious — 
made possible by all our savings 
amassed over a lifetime of work. 
After the coffin is dropped in a vault 
and plunged into a six-foot abyss, 
memories of me are erased, 
scrubbed away from the world of living. 
I stay locked inside my prison, 
screaming into the dark and void
for someone to dig me out of there,
rip off my stuffy suit and tie,
and warm my stiffened, rotten corpse 
with the heat of a tight embrace.
My wishes are ignored as the seasons pass. 
My flesh is frozen come the winter,
and festers in the sweltering summer.