At a headstone in Lowell

“So what you saying?”

“The rich bastards, when they fall out with other rich bastards and they want a war, they pack all the poor bastards off to kill each other.”

“My poor bastards are harder than your poor bastards?”

“Yeah. Something like that.”

“And the poor bastards butcher and mutilate each other for the rich bastards?”

“Yeah.”

“What about missiles?”

“What?”

“Well, they’ll just lob nuclear missiles at each other’s cities now and then we’re all fucked.”

“Yeah. I suppose.”

“What did your mother say today?”

“She said rub me out and draw me again.”

“Why?”

“She wants longer legs.”

“Oh... Where do you reckon we go when we die?”

“Nowhere, mate.”

“Aw, come on. Give me a fucking chance.”

“Dead, mate. That’s what it means, innit?”

“What about the ghosts? The ones you saw.”

“Dunno. Like a recording, maybe.”

“Heaven’s YouTube?”

“Maybe.”

“Dark matter.”

“What?”

“It’s another place, I reckon. So incompatible we can’t know it, but that’s where all the rellies are lurking.”

“You’re fucking nuts.”