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September 11, 2020

the afterlife is implied

Michelle Fisher

what if i drowned in a pool of mashed potatoes?
they say something about that in the pamphlets, i’d imagine.
next time you’re there, dear, pick one up for me.
oh, don’t worry, they print new ones every other tuesday.
just pick one out you think i’d like.
no, it has to be mashed potatoes. don’t you know anything.
it doesn’t work with corn pudding.
of course it wouldn’t, that’s absurd.
i’m not sure if gravy content would affect it.
just get a pamphlet, i’m sure it’s all in there.
goodness, you are curious.
that all depends on if you call them yams or not.
let’s just stick with classic mashed potatoes.
what if i drowned?

it’s friday evening, where are you tonight?
i’ve been waiting up all day for you to arrive.
the weatherman said it had stopped snowing.
you are covered in god’s dandruff, don’t tell me you were at the office.
i burnt dinner. yours, specifically.
the light is pretty, don’t you agree?
look at all the glare shining back from the streets.
it’s like he said, blindness shields you.
don’t ask so many questions.
it’s so cold. well, i am. your dinner, not so much.
where are you?

what will happen to you when you die?
i’m being practical, not morbid.
one has got to have his affairs in order.
i intend to float off.
all the interesting people do it.
no, i don’t think that’s the way for you.
so what will it be?
you never did like miami.
not that you really get a say in the matter, people like you rarely do.
someday, maybe. certainly by the time we know that.
i wish you’d picked up that pamphlet. it would be so useful.
don’t you remember? no matter.
i’m still waiting for an answer.
what will happen to you?