Metal cans line the street of my mind.
If only I could throw my memories
in them, and leave them behind.
The cans scrape across the cold cement.
I conjure up images of chalkboards,
and a feeling, of abandonment.
I feel pain in my ears and my chest.
Maybe it’s the voices of friends that have left,
or the family, that gave up our crest.
Regardless, the lids remain closed.
I leave them on the street, for someone else,