Let goods and kindred go.

Don’t, my townspeople,                       hype the hyphen,
Those fill-in-the-blah-blah-blank                   years
Between some b and its                       subsequent d.
No prattling on of how I                      scribble-shilled for salaries,
Of how I shuttled my several             offspring thither

After quick stops at some                               hither or other,
Of how I ballpointed            almost-subversive verse
Around potluck                    save-the-dates
In Baptist bulletins.                           None of that
Celebration of life la-tee-da             I’m dead now.

Neither gush how much I                 loved wife,
Daughter, son, daughter, son,                      Son
Of God and the 2016 Chicago                      Cubs with
Intermittently appropriate              intensities.
No need to whitewash                      this tomb.

But do, my townspeople,                 articulate
The doctrine of alien             righteousness
Over my corpus                      so lucidly
Lucifer can’t          conceal
A lingering scowl                            and Luther

Gets one last jowl-                          jiggling laugh
As he Oktoberfest-sings, The just
Shall LIVE,            shall LIVE,                  shall LIVE             by faith.
Likewise, all of you sing                         My hope is built
On nothing less than                     Jesus’ blood

And righteousness                         and mean it
As much as I did                             at 16,
By which happy                              birthday

I’d already made a hash                           of mine own.
Next, do stand together                           and sing

And in and out of                           tune
In Christ Alone.                             Last
Read Hebrews                                6:13–20
Loud as a              street preacher
And know I          made eternal book

On the                  existence / promise / oath
Of this God and it’s my pre-
Destined we are beggars                     ’tis true
Moment to see how              this celebration
Of afterlife           hallelujahs             out.