I was not at your funeral. I think it may have upset you. 

                                 I understand why you’re upset. 

                                               I think I lost the invitation. 

          The hospital didn’t call me, but I know you didn’t have next-of-kin. 

       We don’t have public health funerals here. I looked it up. I looked up 

    and I don’t think you’re in Heaven but I know you’re not here, 

but I keep seeing you, and I think the most reasonable explanation here is that

      you were cremated, and your ashes were scattered to the wind, and

      somewhere along the lines I breathed them in and now you’re part of me. It’s

      fun, you’d hate it. I understand why you’re upset, 

but dead men tell no tales. 

I think I lost the manifesto 

you wrote in your sleep before 

you decided politics weren’t your thing. 

Dead men tell no tales. Since I lost yours, 

there isn’t much to tell. I would 

rewrite it but I’m scared I’d 

misremember, 

but you’re part of 

me now, so I 

guess that 

doesn’t make 

sense. Not like I 

thought it did. 

I threw a party and you didn’t show up. I told my next-of-kin 

           that you lost the invitation.