The call has gone forth for bad obituary poetry. I happen to have a few things on my hard disk which I scribbled down a few years ago which appeared in our parish magazine here in Scotland a few months back - published, I might add, rather hesitantly by the editor. A buddy of mine back in Montreal edits his parish magazine and I note that there was no hesitation in picking them up and reprinting them there. Just goes to show that bad taste works well in the Americas where it is treated as a commodity.

My husband's no longer alive
He insisted that he could still drive.
In lieu of carnations
our church needs donations.
The funeral's on Tuesday at five.

Dear Mummy has gone off to heaven.
She died yesterday at eleven.
The funeral's not private
so try to arrive at
the funeral parlour at seven.

Did anyone know Alvin Fetter,
the inveterate drunkard and debtor.
His family's bereft
but a few things are left.
If he owed you please send us a letter.

We're all feeling sorry for Ed,
especially now that he's dead.
We still find it odd
and wonder why God
didn't go and take Grandma instead.


respectfully submitted
R. Rabbit