Do you remember his name?

Do you remember his name?
Time on time he’d drop it
Over the years and yet
No-one bent to pick it up 

Funny that. Used to joke he had
A better head for names than
Faces, but guess they both fit
Through the neck of a bottle

Can somebody not leave a mark?
There are scratches under the seat
Where he’d pick anxiously waiting
On the bell to ring last rites

And the memory of a seat that’s
Always taken so you don’t even
Look to see if it’s empty though
The room’s buzzing with thirst

Not much to show for a life
Even one travelled so lightly 
Still you might imagine a footprint
Somewhere behind in the dirt

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