We want to be remembered;

is that not why we fold
pieces of gum into
the neat
underbellies of tables,
stomp up silent stairs, slam
arrogant doors,
push back
nonchalant chairs?

And is that not why we bury half finished
cigarettes,
stained from lips and ashed
from the careless shakes of wrists?

Or throw empty bottles
as far as our arms allow
- so the satisfying clinks can reassure us
of those other things
as broken as our lives (and sometimes
hearts)

We're afraid to be forgotten;