Recently I posted a number of prose poems titled “Practice Run for an Obituary” on another social media platform. It’s been a long hot summer, especially here in Antep where we’ve had week long stretches of one hundred degree Fahrenheit days and only three rainy evenings since May. Oh yeah, and then there’s the ongoing pandemic and the chaotic and embarrassing end to America’s long war in Afghanistan. Certainly, like many people I know, I’ve been depressed for stretches, and where there is depression there are thoughts of mortality. It should be much easier to write a poem than jump out a window, and I apologize to those with writer’s block and suicidal thoughts because sometimes it *seems* easier to jump out a window. Please don’t do that if you’re thinking about it. Write a poem. Write a bad poem. Sometimes intending to write a bad poem leads to writing a pretty good one.
My obit poems were written with no other purpose than to amuse myself and others. I did elicit some laughing emojis and positive comments. I hope those of you reading them collected here will appreciate them as well. They will serve as an inaugural test run for this new platform, which I hope to contribute to regularly.
Practice Run for an Obituary #1
Joe Schmidt died alone in a room surrounded by his loved ones. Dementia had finally taken him and the only faces he could recognize were characters from 1970s and 80s television. He had not remembered his failures nor his successes. In the end his accomplishments were not particularly memorable. His grudges were petty, not at all epic, and thus mere kindling for the hellfire, if that be his destination in the next world. He was always sure that the twentieth century dictators and warmongers would make a spectacular blaze. If his faith in the Mercy of the Almighty were unfounded, he was equally sure every adult and a good number of children he had known should go to hell. He is survived by Michael Landon, Angela Lansbury, and Mr. T. In lieu of flowers, please get vaccinated and sell your car for bus fare. If you don't have a car or bus fare, don't feel obliged to attend Mr. Schmidt's funeral, but please do pray for the souls of Ricardo Montalban and Leonard Nimoy. Beggars and itinerant preachers are encouraged to make a nuisance of themselves. Poets are expressly forbidden to recite their gibberish.
Practice Run for an Obituary #2
Joe Schmidt died after being struck by a hit and run motorcyclist while returning home with the morning bread. For years he had complained about motorcycles speeding on the pavement, or going the opposite direction of traffic in the street. Today his complaints ended. He was found dead clutching a small treasure trove of Gaziantep's finest bread products-- three large warm loaves, four hamburger buns, and three butter bagels with sesame seeds. Joe always loved the bread bakeries on Republic Street, especially the friendly crew that worked the fire oven at the flat bread bakery. He is survived by his beloved wife and daughter, and the delicious ground beef köfte they made to put on the hamburger buns. The family asks, in lieu of flowers, to send more bread for köfte, because mourning on an empty stomach in Turkey is like mourning sober at an Irish wake. Friends will take solace knowing Joe died sober, having given up the sauce decades earlier, although we all wonder if it improved his mental clarity and personality as much as his breath. Joseph R. Biden, the 46th President of the United States, will read the eulogy from a teleprompter. Mourners are urged to refrain from heckling or provoking secret service members.
Practice Run for an Obituary #3
The coroner said Joe Schmidt died on the production line on monday morning. His body was not discovered until later in the week by maintenance. Friends said Joe was a dedicated employee who never called in sick, even if it meant making his co-workers ill. Known for his humorless personality and his knack for spreading shade like a cursed tree from a horror film, Joe could count his friends on his right hand. It was that very same hand from which he lost two digits in an industrial accident. A company man, he scolded those that suggested that he litigate. His ashes will be scattered in the trail head parking lot near the Appalachian Trail, which Joe always dreamed of hiking someday. Joe was looking forward to retiring in the spring. We are still waiting for a statement from company officials. In lieu of flowers, the family has asked for donuts and cash gifts.
Practice Run for an Obituary #4
Joe Schmidt's remains will be interred after examination by the coroner's office. His friends and family were comforted when the cause of his death was announced as severe mauling by a bear rather than being a victim of a grisly serial murder, as some initially suspected. It should be noted, to avoid the indignity of a pun, that the offending bear was likely a member of the species Ursus Americanus, the black bear. Joe was known to admire such bears, and some have gone so far as to call it his spirit animal. One friend quipped, "sounds like he had a spiritual crisis." In lieu of flowers, family have asked that angry letters of complaint be sent to The Appalachian Trail Conservancy. Please hike safely and don't use peanut butter as sunscreen.
Practice Run for an Obituary#5
Joe Schmidt has died. He was among the oldest living humans documented by science. He lived 127 years and recently stated in a candid interview he never expected to see the twenty second century, let alone the twenty first. Mr. Schmidt, who was surprisingly sharp for his age, repeatedly referred to contemporary youth as "pantywaist clones". He said everything was better in the 1970s, the decade of his birth. When asked why, he said "Duh. Zeppelin, you clone. Are you pantywaist?" A medical examiner stated he apparently died in his sleep of natural causes. He is survived by his long suffering wife and daughter, three grandchildren, twelve great grandchildren, and nineteen great great grandchildren. The family has admitted that their patriarch was not easy to get along with and that they have waited for this day for a very long time. Cards and flowers will be graciously accepted for this festive occasion.
Practice Run for an Obituary #6
Joe Schmidt, aged 46, died of a heart attack at Arslan Park in Gaziantep, Turkey during a pick up basketball game. He had been dominating the court all day, owning the paint and draining threes. Hijab covered aunties peddled faster on the park stationary bikes every time he took a younger man to the hole. He told friends that he'd discovered his shooting too late in life. He was 12 for 14 from the three point line when his heart exploded. He simply had too good a day and nobody could make him leave the court. Through the years he'd played pick up ball at some choice courts as well as innumerable obscure ones. He played at "The Cage" on West Fourth Street, and uptown at the St. Nicholas houses in Harlem, among other places in New York. There was the court at Hogan's Fountain at Cherokee Park, and the Triangle, in Louisville. He'd played in hiking boots in Glasgow, Virginia, near the Appalachian Trail. He played with high school boys, wash ups, wannabes, scrubs, paroled criminals, accountants, census takers, drunks, ex drunks, Jews, Christians, Muslims, atheists, and Rastafarians. He was six foot five inches tall but never dunked the basketball. In lieu of flowers, the family has asked that friends send "hops" so that maybe Joe can improve his vertical in the next world.