I am resigned to the thought,
That one day I will be lost,
And the final memory of my name,
Will be the stray recollections of a cat,
Eating beneath a picnic table,
Where our my name is carved,
Made by fumbling hands,
Too drunk to care that,
“It’s such a cliché!”
Egged on by your teasing,
Commemorating these little moments,
That quickly fade in time,
Until they’re an alien sigil,
That the cat simply doesn’t understand,
And certainly cares not to.
Discarded Recollections 