If you weren’t fictional
I’d be incredible angry.
I’d want to kill you
if I hadn’t just made you up.
If you were anything more
than a construct of my imagination
I’d probably be looking into ways
I could sue your family
or defame your legacy
or, if nothing else,
dump three hundred pounds of manure
on your gravesite.
Now that would be a fitting revenge!

God, I’d hate you
if you were real.
If you’d actually caused such dismay for my family
you know what I’d do?
I’d probably live and let live
since it’s not like I ever met
my great grand uncle or anything.
I probably wouldn’t even remember his name
– Hiram or something –
if he had existed
and the incident had occurred.

Hell, for all I know
there might actually be some bullshit incident
in an actual Great Grand Uncle Hiram’s history.
Maybe you did do it.
Maybe I’ve actually plugged into the zeitgeist of my family
and a biplane was inexplicably used
for fertilizer transport
but failed in its primary mission.
Maybe you killed my uncle.
Maybe I really know something
that I don’t.

Well, if so:
Fuck you, then, asshole!