I Don’t Love Places

With me, you won’t be able to follow that
weird tradition of spreading the cremation ashes
in the place that the person had loved the most.
Not with me. I didn’t have one of those.
I never went anywhere.

The few places I did visit, I didn’t really like
and was happy enough to leave when the time came.
But I wasn’t all that happy to return
home either. It’s hard to explain.

I guess you would have to dump them
in one of the apartments I had lived in,
but which one I could not tell you.
I didn’t really have a favorite.
They were just apartments.

(This current one is not bad, though
it has bugs and the landlady is insane.)

And really, what a mess that would be:
I don’t want anyone breathing my cremation ashes, so
you would have to vacuum them right back up, and
then I would be mixed up with flakes
of other people’s dead skin. Because house dust
is mostly made up of flakes of dead skin.
(I read that somewhere.)

And so then you would be right back
where you started, with my cremation ashes in a
container, this time a disposable (hint, hint)
vacuum cleaner bag, and you not knowing what to do with them.
Maybe we’ll get lucky and they will never find the body.
And the ants will cart me off, bit by bit.
Like a big joyous feast after the harvest.

Sorry to bring all this up, but one day someone
is going to have to deal with this. One day
I will surely die. Everyone does.
(I read that somewhere.)

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