I stand here silently,
watching them take you away
in a box of metal.
Professional mourners weep
like banshees in a bog.
Strangers, family, and friends alike
All stand,
Allowing ourselves one final moment
before you've been made into ash
to let memory wash over us.

You were the mad one.
The only person I knew who could
eat more than fifteen hot dogs in one sitting
and still have room for lunch, dinner, and dessert.
You always said that you would be the first to go,
that death would take the best of us first.

The men come out to to your family
handing over your ashes.
The weepers leave,
the friends disperse,
the family begins on their way home.

Five years later,
the anniversary of your death.
I stand at your body-less marker.
As I move to turn away
I feel a hand on my shoulder.
I turn around confused
and gasp surprised.
You're more than just
ashes in an urn,
hidden in a closet.

You are the one who mourns,
your death unaccepted by those closest to you.
You ask me to say the words
that no one else had the strength to.
Good Luck.
With that, you are again
Ashes.

All I can think to do at the table
is stare at the bright orange Reeses'
cups package and the Payday
bars illuminated by light
from the vending machine. I sit,
wondering whether they drip

inside their package. My arm drips
to my pocket. I bring money to the table,
ready to decide just what is it
that I want to buy. I prefer Reeses',
but it's been long since I've tasted the light
caramel and crunchy peanut of a Payday.

This decision would be easy if I had a Payday.
As it stands, my money is dripping.
If it's any indication of how light
my wallet is, I can barely bring one back to the table.
It's a tough decision. I've been craving Reeses'
for weeks. I haven't decided, but this is it.

I walk up to the machine. I'm done sitting,
It's a question of this or that. Payday?
Heads. I reach in my pocket. Tails, Reeses'.
I manage the quarter out. How could I know I'd rip
a dollar in the process? Back to the table
for damage control. The tear was light

enough not to be serious, just a slight
rip. It's easier to flip a coin while you sit
anyway. I toss it in the air and it lands on the table.
Heads. I smiled, my decision was made. Payday.
I walk back to the machine and drop
coins in, not making eye contact with the Reeses'.

As I get up, I feel terrible. I've betrayed the Reeses'
cups I've enjoyed since I was a child, the delight
that kept me going when there wasn't a drip
of tea left. I think I'll go downstairs to sit
and eat my new sugary master, the Payday.
This time I pass by, not return to, the table.

I look back, past the table, at the orange Reeses'
packages, then glance at my Payday. It's light,
I won't have to sit to eat it. Ashamed, my eyes drip.

The thermos stands like a torpedo
on its end.
A gift from my grandparents,
a reminder of family forgotten,
gathers dust.
It's still full of green tea.
Unwashed and ignored,
It's lost all it had to say.
But maybe I should wash
the stagnant thermos.
Fresh, iced Oolong is best
in the summer heat.

I won't lie, it's easy enough to replace you.
You were a replacement yourself. I bought
you at office depot, and your predecessor
was given to me by a friend. Mechanical
pencil lead is cheap. The only difference
between you and the lead I've owned
before is that you broke every other
word I tried to write. It didn't matter
how much weight I put onto the paper.
You snapped into pieces that dropped
every time I tried to pick them up.
Because of your brittleness, you
stood out, and unlike the lead
that kept itself together, you
won't be so readily forgotten.