WHEN I die
        I do not want to have the downmouthed look
        of the 'coaster rider who,
        as the car abrupts to a halt,
        looks up and says, ''What a gyp.''

When I die
        I do not want to feel like the road tripper
        who, anticipating the imminence of arrival,
        is told by a laconic garage mechanic,
        ''Oh no, you missed the turn miles back.''

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.
        ''So that's what was stuck in my kidneys.''

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,
        ''So, what have you been up to?''

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