by Michael Salcman
Dear Friend: now that I am gone
I want you to know I never liked that photo
of you on Instagram, the one with the dog
named Schopenhauer slobbering on your sleeve.
Not to mention the endless uplift of your blog
as you bravely faced your final illness
and the death that somehow never came.
Also, I could barely look at the steady stream
of Facebook posts, TMI
those smiling pictures of a new family
and the saccharine flow about your latest book
of verse I knew would kill me.
Worse the steady rain of Linked In notes
made me scream just because we'd shared a page
in the same literary magazine.
Why would Google's robots confuse our names
as if we were twins?
You erased nothing, even after the news broke
about your pregnant secretary
or how you'd plagiarized my work.
I tried to cut you away in life but failed miserably.
So I have given in to the age and left you a gift-
a monthly message from the grave, this is the first.
Copyright 2017. All rights reserved.