WHEN I die
        I do not want the downmouthed look
        of the 'coaster rider who,
        as the car abrupts to a halt, asks
        ''Do I get a half-price now?''

When I die
        I do not want to feel like the road tripper
        who, anticipating the imminence of arrival,
        is told by a garage mechanic,
        ''This car was stolen from me last year.''

When I die
        I do not want the epiphany of the coach potato
        who, after hours of watching UPN,
        gets up and finds the remote and says,
        ''Darryl Hughley kinda grows on you.''

When I die
        I do not want to cry like the bride
        who, as she adjusts her veil,
        receives a letter from a long-lost saying,
        ''I never liked you.''

When I die
        I'd prefer to smile like the child who,
        stealing a sip from his napping father's beer,
        is told by the awakened old man,
        ''Hey, go get your own.''