Un

1.

We were something back in those days
slick oil and snakeskinned knees.
We thought that we were marble
set in stone and permanent and gods.
We used to stoop-sit under drunken evening darkness
marveling at cosmos that we swore spoke our names.

Four years later look at us now
you dead, I on the way
one foot in the grave with bottle and can.
Our names were forgotten
the minute we packed our paupers bags
and checked out for the last time from
the old inward courtyard.

Now there are others
doing the very same things
swearing the very same legacies
and being forgotten at the very same
rapidity.

We were something.
Destined to be nothing.