Fragments From Floyd: Fertilizer in Floyd: RIP

Hmmm. I never thought of myself as a toxic risk to the planet. But considering my early history of dental amalgams, if I were to be cremated upon my demise (thinking this the most eco-friendly and eco-nomical way to end this incorporation) the mercury in those dental patches could increase the chances of brain damage in those who breathed the heavy metals that once was me. But is there a better way?

Yes, say the promessionists. Freeze-dry your earthly remains, segregating out the metals that persist in fillings and artificial joints, and bury the organic YOU in a biodegradable box. Then plant a tree to mark the spot. Promession, say its promoters, is a way of "taking care of human remains with highest dignity in order to make mulching possible."

Yeah, that's the ticket. I want to be recycled. I'm serious: this seems like a reasonable and environmentally responsible alternative to cremation, for a lot of reasons. But I must tell you, on this Friday morning of mental rambles, it put's me to mind of the poem called Cowboy Reincarnation. Read on...

"What does Reincarnation mean?"
A cowpoke asked his friend.
His pal replied, "It happens when
Yer life has reached its end.
They comb yer hair, and warsh yer neck,
And clean yer fingernails,
And lay you in a padded box
Away from life's travails."

"The box and you goes in a hole,
That's been dug into the ground.
Reincarnation starts in when
Yore planted 'neath a mound.
Them clods melt down, just like yer box,
And you who is inside.
And then yore just beginnin' on
Yer transformation ride."

"In a while, the grass'll grow
Upon yer rendered mound.
Till some day on yer moldered grave
A lonely flower is found.
And say a hoss should wander by
And graze upon this flower
That once wuz you, but now's become
Yer vegetative bower."

"The posy that the hoss done ate
Up, with his other feed,
Makes bone, and fat, and muscle
Essential to the steed,
But some is left that he can't use
And so it passes through,
And finally lays upon the ground
This thing, that once wuz you."

"Then say, by chance, I wanders by
And sees this upon the ground,
And I ponders, and I wonders at,
This object that I found.
I thinks of reincarnation,
Of life and death, and such,
And come away concludin': 'Slim,
You ain't changed, all that much

Comments

Hey, that sounds like a good business concept. We could call the company Dead Man Daisies ;) Customers could ship off grand pappies' remains and in a couple weeks we can ship back a planter with the flower of their liking fertilized by good 'ol grand pappy himself! Later, we could branch out with Mom's Mums, Grandmas Goosefoots and so on!

BTW, your version of the poem looks like it was scanned in by optical character recognition software. Some of the words are a bit off. Here is the one I have on file:

Posted by: Sean Pecor | October 21, 2005 8:45 AM

My goodness Fred! Where your mind does wander!! I loved the poem! Funny!!

Posted by: Rachel | October 21, 2005 11:51 AM

is this your poem or somebuddy else's? only i would like to post it on my site for the pleasure of others there.. y'know poets and artists and people like that - they need to crack a smile sometimes and get out of the shadows a bit before they go all pale and wrinkly. let me know?

i found this blog through susanna's place

Posted by: circumsolar | October 22, 2005 5:57 AM

Liquid nitrogen production is an energy-intensive process/industry; one wonders what the environmental offset would be?

No one has amalgam fillings anymore do they? My jawbreaker recognized the profit center they represented in his boomer patient demographic and insisted on removing them, at my expense, of course. ;^)

Posted by: bj | October 22, 2005 1:47 PM

Oh, what a great poem! I love cowboy poetry. While we traveled around the western U.S. for a year, we came across several cowboy poetry events. The best were in Hot Springs, S.D. and Sierra Vista, AZ. They were all so much fun. Thanks for that exceptionally fine example!

Posted by: Kathy Barron | October 23, 2005 11:02 PM

Posted by: EJVzPnDBOI | October 27, 2005 3:33 AM

Fragments From Floyd

Personal journal of Fred First from a remote valley in the Blue Ridge mountains of Virginia

Fertilizer in Floyd: RIP

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