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My Holiday In Heaven
VENTURED up to Heaven week before last
On an extended holiday.
Heaven really is the place to be,
Or the place at least in which to be seen.
Seriously, everyone was there.
WARHOL had a hair salon,
(Apparently in eternity, career changes are authorized.)
The marquee on the storefront window read:
'BE FAMOUS FOR FIFTEEN MILLENNIUMS.'
I told him 'Millennia' is the actual correct Greek plural.
He didn't seem that much concerned.
MAMA Cass and Karen Carpenter
Had a quaint little hamburger stand just across the cul-de-sac.
Ironic, isn't it, that the hamburger taking Cass' life,
Most likely could have saved Carpenter's.
However, neither addressed that issue, however,
And each called me a 'sick-o.'
I ran into John Belushi who,
With his tiny white wings and little round halo, kept saying
How stupid he felt and that white was definitely not his color.
Before parting company, he must have asked a dozen different angels
If they knew where he could score some angel dust.
Not one of them knew exactly what that was, thankfully.
I was so embarrassed.
A shop run by Jim Morrison
Sold lizard boots and leather belts, and although it carried quality goods,
Teetered on the brink of bankruptcy.
Heaven doesn't have a big corner
In the serpent skin or animal apparel fashion market.
Jim complained and fussed that business had sucked, ever since
Elvis opened His store, two or three blocks
Down the avenue.
Mirrors and sequins tend to sell themselves, I suppose,
Especially up in Heaven,
Where everything is so burlesque and gay.
HEAVEN has a great little nightclub ‘though I've forgotten its name.
I do however, still remember the marquee, which
Was very well-illuminated in neon lights:
SCHEDULED THROUGHOUT ETERNITY
- KARAOKE MON & TUES 'TILL 9:00 PM
- BINGO WED & THURS 'TILL 10:00 PM
- F.D.G. FRI & SAT 'TILL MIDNIGHT
THE nightclub had a fantastic house-band:
'FIVE DEAD GUYS', (But they all preferred 'F.D.G.')
* FREDDY MERCURY (Vocals.)
* SID VICIOUS (Bass.)
* JOHN LENNON (Rhythm.)
* JIMI HENDRIX (Lead.)
* JOHN BONHAM (Percussion.)
IT was good seeing them again all seemingly so contented.
Only Jimi expressed a bit of dissent
Desiring that they branch-off more towards jazz.
(To this, the rest of FDG was somewhat adamant.)
However, Miles Davis and John Coltrain,
Who were both in the audience drinking and smoking, and
Sharing a good laugh, amongst
The rest of their dead friends,
Expressed an interest in jamming with Jimi
Sometime in the future.
Jimi bought them each a round, and
Took down their numbers,
Promising to call.
IT was the atmosphere that seduced me that night.
And, although I drank too much,
I DO remember everyone telling me how much the 'Life of the Party' I had been.
Not surprising, really, as I was still very much alive,
While they were all, literally, quite dead.
THE following morning I awoke hung over,
Out of dough and down to my last cigarette, which
I decided to save for the long trip home.
Saint Peter invited me to extend my holiday in Heaven, claiming
He could not remember when he'd last had
Such an enjoyable evening out.
I knew then that it was TIME to leave Heaven.
Saint Peter kept reiterating how TIME was irrelevant, and
How, in Heaven, they had nothing but TIME.
AS I approached the pearly gates to leave,
Driving in my 1960 Plymouth Valiant,
(You know, the one with the Slant-Six-One-Seventy engine, and the Corvette-White paint,)
A sign was posted in the grass beside the exit lane.
- YOU ARE NOW LEAVING HEAVEN.
- DRIVE SAFELY AND FASTEN YOUR SAFETY BELTS.
- SEE 'YALL SOON . . . ( HOPEFULLY.)
- KILL YOUR SPEED . . . NOT YOUR IDOLS.
BY the TIME I had returned home, the
Grass needed mowing and the mail'd amassed to an almost overwhelming amount.
As I perused the nearly three-weeks of accumulated post, I
Came across a plain white envelope,
The red-inked word LIFE in the sender's return address corner.
The enclosed notice read :
"YOUR SUBSCRIPTION TO LIFE IS ABOUT TO RUN OUT."
FROWNING, I set it aside.
"I suppose it's all just a matter of TIME, now," I concluded.
ONE week later, on Monday next to be precise,
I suffered a massive heart attack and died.
Earlier, in the morning of that same day,
I had received another plain white envelope
With the wordTIME in the sender's return address corner.
The enclosed notice read:
"YOUR SUBSCRIPTION TO TIME HAS EXPIRED."
APPARENTLY, bothTIME and LIFE had finally run out for me.
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