One of these days

I will run across an obituary

on line, maybe in print

and it will be

 about the devastation

brought upon the world

by your loss.

Tears will be shed, songs will be sung,

heads will be hung in sorrow

by a few people,

most likely the ones

who quaffed your bile  as if it

were wine

and saw you as

acerbic, slightly pazzo, sublime.

I won’t be there

to spit on your grave

I won’t be there

to mock you, or to laugh at you

or to announce

how glad I am

you are worm food.

Surprised?

After the Reaper has done his job and spirited you away,

I am going to Disney Land

and

I must say here

that

I

can hardly wait.

Daily Addictions Prompt: Eager