Before the stiff Monsignor bends
To butter me with chrism, do these things for me;
air the suit from Gieves & Hawkes,
cut to a shape I haven’t been since eighty-three;
black and shine my wedding shoes
with Cherry Blossom from the tin below the stairs;
choose a shirt (collar fifteen and a half),
Pringle socks, narrow tie, matching pocket square.
The priest will offer unction, gabble
the words, scared I’ll beat him to the final breath,
but I need no provision for the journey
except the quiet satisfaction of a fashionable death.
© Andy Jackson