Going out through a side door backing away from a missed kiss clutching a soft fruit rotten before it ripened:
my hearse? an airport trolley my mourners? are lost umbrellas.
My requiem? a spiritual trauma. My obituary? an embarrassed cough.
The speaker imagines their own death and funeral, and the picture is deliberately deflating. The opening lines show an awkward exit: slipping out a side door, backing away from a kiss that never landed, holding a piece of fruit that went bad before it ever ripened.
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