rusty and neglected
among the thorns
and tall, wild grass
stands the marker of a man
long since passed
a sorrowful reminder
of all life that comes and goes
of the life some might remember
and soon no one will know
no one to tend the marker
none to remember the man
no one to even notice
the monument at hand
I pass it nearly everyday
and wonder who he was
to warrant such an epitaph
to earn such a tribute of love
and then to be forgotten
at a corner where no one stops
in front of an ugly chain link fence
midst trash and weeds and rocks
decomposing a little more each day
like a body in a grave
none to recall the forgotten man
was he good
was he loving
was he brave
what would he think
of his sad, unkempt shrine
and what would I say
if this pillar was mine
such things are for the living
such things not meant to stand
such tokens of such fleeting days
won’t remember the forgotten man
Dog-eared Stories 