One's Own Reputation

My reputation,
Your reputation,
Our reputation.

Nothing more than,
A rather random,
Assortment of,
Projections,
Misinterpretations,
Baseless rumors,
False ascriptions,
Of folks who,
For the most part,
Don't give a rat's damn,
If we live,
Or die.

Long gone,
Thoughts,
Memories,
About who,
They believe,
Us to be.

And then,
Some say that,
A good reputation,
Is a man's best friend,
No doubt,
His most valuable asset.

But,
To all of this,
I say,
Bullshit!

A man's reputation is,
Nothing more than,
An assemblage of errors,
Some skewed positively,
By those,
We happen to call our friends,
Others skewed negatively,
By those who likely despise us.

But really now,
Does such a thing matter,
I mean,
Does it matter at all?

Well of course,
It matters,
If one happens to be,
Interested in,
Keeping a job,
Being invited to a party,
Getting elected to political office,
Receiving an invitation to join,
The local country club,
The Daughters of the American Revolution,
Or even the Rotary Club.

On the other hand,
Can you imagine,
Leo Tolstoy,
Mohandas Gandhi,
Eugene V. Debs,
Martin Luther King, Jr.,
Mother Teresa,
Or even Jesus Christ,
Losing a night's sleep,
Concerning their reputation?

Perhaps the world,
Would be a bit better off,
If we,
As human beings,
Cared a bit more about,
The kind of human being,
We have chosen to be,
Rather than what others,
Think about us.