dreadful bad luck:

I shattered the old headstone.

Though time had done most of the work.

That and neglect, they so often hold hands.

“Dreadful bad luck” a man said behind me,

dragging at the nub of a cigar between

his teeth.

A long silence hung between us.

“Knocking over a headstone I mean.”

Dreadful bad luck indeed.

Luck was such an odd thing to think,

why did I even bother coming here?

Digging at the old wounds.

A nostalgic kind of pain, standing

on hallowed ground. Peppered with

memories, a field of the dead.

I breathe out a sigh, it sounds like

scripture on the wind between us.

It was velvet on my tongue,

sugar on my words to hide my

shame.