This poem is entitled "The Passerby."
"Now that you're dead I can't ask you for a recommendation,
my possible employment at the pharmacy is kaput.
Now that you're dead I've developed a slight stutter,
I hope you're proud of yourself and your snowless light.
Ah, this isn't fair, now that I'm
alive are you bored with my enthusiasm already?
Do you want to play hearts?
Mine, mine, harbor in a name.
Dead passersby, dead name.
You're not listed in my address book.
I'm on a bridge, out of matches.
Now that you're dead, surrender is a forgiven sound.
The end of smoke, the beginning of smoke
when your memory temporarily returns."