Cast Away

I was a piece of your memory

that day in summer.

I tumbled out your window

Your black car matched the pavement.

Cars screamed past on the highway

while my ice cream melted.

My straw gleamed with tears

Time lapsed to night.

A racoon passed and sniffed me,

now a thawed mess of a McFlurry.

I was a brown puddle of chocolate

that sank into the ground as the animal moved on.

The next day rain filled my cup

But your car didn’t come back.

Mold started to grow

On plants surrounding me.

Years later, and grass covered,

A man in orange picked me up

to throw me in a black bag

that matched your car.

The one that didn’t come back.