by John Bennett
I’ve made four lists.
The first contains the names of people who if they try to get up and make a speech at my wake (and it’s going to be one hell of a three-day blowout, plans are in the making), stone the fuckers, throw them out the door, how the hell did they get in in the first place?
The second contains the names of people who mean well but are bewildered and maudlin. Let them speak, but encourage them to make it brief.
The third list is made up of people I have loved passionately and who have loved me the same. They may say and do whatever they please, even those who denounce me and then break down and weep.
The fourth list consists of people who have a deep affinity for and a deep understanding of my writing. Needless to say I love them passionately too, even those I’ve never set eyes on. Demand complete silence if any of them should choose to speak, although most of them won’t and the best of them won’t even show up.
No matter how or where you scatter my ashes, it’s in their dreams that the gray dust will settle.