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Amy the funeral director

is an attractive young woman

who lives down the road

whose family members are long-time

friends of my family members

beginning with her grandparents

and my grandparents, when

the topography was graphic,

made of wood, was family

and neighborhood oriented

and was bordered by landmarks

most notably, Bart’s Drugstore

to the west beyond Marzilli’s Bakery

down Bedford Street, separating

the exaggerated excessiveness

of the Italians

from the more archaic and stringently

oriented Portuguese,—  and where

her grandfather took-up shop on the Italian

side of the line,— this side of Bart’s.

still, the funeral home was considered to be

Portuguese-owned and run

and as the Italians had no funeral home

to call their own,

concentrated their efforts toward the business

of two-chaired barber shops.

“Hey, Paesano! Why you wanna

the duck’s-a ass-a for, huh?” 

Amy, who is good-natured,

bright-eyed with a wonderful smile,

a nice ass, a full set of teeth,

when the time is right, will bury me.

she also performs on stage

in regional theater,— most often

in the stage productions

of standard Broadway musicals

produced by my sister’s theater company.

Godspell’s the latest.

the packed house was expected

and I’ve been told that Amy,

a locally trained mezzo, sang Robin with clear

projection and beauty of tone

and if I play my cards right

I’ll have an inside track to a handsome

discount when I reach the slab.