Treemories

Maybe the trees keep their
memories in the bricks
knowing that we'll probably
never check.
It's already November,
Summertime I can't recall
for shit,
and now all that's
left is the bricks, for shit.
For shit. For shit. For shit.
For yours. For his. For shit.
For them. For theirs. For shit
For hers. For shit.
For us. For shit