Pay all your bills, disable the router,
Shut down the software on your laptop computer,
Draw all the curtains and shut off the lights
And wait for the first of the silent nights.
Toss out the flow’rs; they were already dead,
Let the mole-snakes return to inhabit your shed.
Pack up your mother’s furniture, out of the sun,
Let the postbox be gorged with letters to no one.
This was my heart, my hell, my pain, my rest,
For too long, for far too long, my nest,
For years I tossed in my childhood sheets;
While dreams drifted slowly away, in silent fleets
Throw out the milk, set free the birds,
Give somebody else your windowsill herbs,
Dismantle your easel, pack up your sails,
Unsubscribe from ten years of promotional mail.
My flower stems are dying now; throw out every one,
Fold up the mountains and snuff out the sun,
Cash in the coupons and turn out the yard,
Recycle your childhood birthday cards.
Swallow your pills and hang up your clothes,
For nothing now resembles the life that you chose.
[Inspired by the form and meter of W.H. Auden’s Funeral Blues]