We slowly pass

I ask my friend to slow down,
Cars start to overtake us
As our vehicle begins to dawdle.
We slowly pass
The rushed memorial,
Stripped of whatever it is
That it’s supposed to have,
For anyone that doesn’t know
The specifics that they
All come with.
The last few leaves
Have started to discolour,
Looking crisp;
They’d snap if rearranged:
Their own impressions
Of the ashes.
Someones’s job is to sweep
Them away, the sort of weirdness
That no one thinks about, or
If so rarely. I don’t want
To be there
When they do.
But I don’t want anything
To last forever.