My Name is Lost

I am resigned to the thought,
That one day I will be lost,
And the final memory of my name,
Will be the stray recollections of a cat,
Eating beneath a picnic table,
Where our my name is carved,
Made by fumbling hands,
Too drunk to care that,
“It’s such a cliché!”
Egged on by your teasing,
Commemorating these little moments,
That quickly fade in time,
Until they’re an alien sigil,
That the cat simply doesn’t understand,
And certainly cares not to.

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