After I die br some will mourn br Others will put on the face of mourning br They’ll gather together at two o’clock br and be home for dinner. br They’ll be wondering what’s for dinner. br Maybe they planned ahead and defrosted something. br Meanwhile, I’ll still be dead, br and all of my passions and sexual adventures and br school exams and career choices and career dead-ends br will have vanished with the whack of a baseball bat. br They’ll scatter my ash someplace pretty br but most of it will mix with dust and grime br and deposit itself on unremarkable fields or br sink to the bottom of water. br That’s okay because I’ll still be dead. br br Springtime will burst with blossoms and bugs br and turn to summer br Kids will graduate and parents will smile br and wait for marriages and grandchildren br New singers and movie stars br will face the klieg lights and then br slide into tell-all books and then out-of-print. br The earth will keep rotating and new br planets and galaxies will be discovered br and described with mathematics. br br All of these will occur and recur like premonitions br and I will have no comments or satiric asides. br I will not smirk or raise an eyebrow. br I will not smile knowingly or put down the newspaper to br reach over and hold you tight. br I will not preserve or remember this intimate moment with you. br I will not say your name or recall your sweet smell.