the memento tinge
on things that should otherwise
be burnt
or buried
or recycled
into benign
compounds
leaving
nothing but a memory
of smoke
like lovers who smoked
but were otherwise
satisfactory
I’m sorry
I should be specific
and name the articles
their vivid
catalogue of virtues
and bitterness
but I got rid of the lot
and the incompetent chords
of my memory
cannot bring them back
so I’ll just have to say
I made it all up
this life I once had that
they’re ‘celebrating’ now
while my gardens of junk
remain