'Ennu njan naaley nee' (Today me tomorrow you).
That heavy duty sign at the gate welcomed all within.
I was not in the best state:
strapped to a stretcher,
covered like a mummy,
stinking of incense and flowers,
waiting for my turn
at the gas crematorium.
Forgotten.
Already.
(They might remember
to place me in the oven.)
I spotted a pretty lady.
I winked. Auld lang syne.
She gave me a cold stare.
(Cast away wokeish propriety and protests,
Send me away with the right spirit, will you?)
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