Gravestones

Good gracious. You again. And it is always you

asking to borrow cigarettes and time. We are

exhaling on the curb. Mouths heating with a

debate. Yellow town lights bleed desperate

wings against our faces. Testimonies of a good man

tonight. The “Jesus Camp” story, stoicism and

smoke smiles. My mother shot a man. The

ember pinches your fingertips with a desperate

kiss. Does that make her a bad woman? We all die.

Does it matter? The extinguished filters are expensively

buried. We woke with our names on gravestones today.