A million details of a million forgotten lives lived on the streets, the bars, libraries
and automobiles by people who made no babies.
People who worked and saved and collected,
to end as scraps of refuse on an apartment floor.
A photo salvaged nameless from a dumpster to
be reborn as an ornament, a trinket representing the disposability of all life, the newsprint
counter of a table in a Wendy's resturant.
The intersection, corner, curb, whence once was
passed betwixt friends, a crack on someone else.
The memory of a deer in a corn
field, that makes a young boy look each time he passes, far into adulthood, into
age & decline, looking, holding the memory each time his wheels passes this point,
but the deer is long gone,
as is the boarding house where the great uncle cussed a
sailor, replaced with a 24 story hotel, full of dramas new.