Skeletons

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As the sun sets

I watch on as the loud orange colors fill the sky

The southern breeze hits icy against my skin

My shirt is soaked

I wipe the beads of sweat from my forehead

My palms are blistered

I stretch for a moment

Flexing my arms

Catching my breath.

He asks me if I am tired

I nod in approval

We switch

Tossing him the shovel

He takes my place in the pit

Tossing aside dirt and rubble

Digging away at its base

Carving away at its insides

I take notice of my dusty boot

Then my blood stained trouser 

I scratch a match

Cup my hands

And set light my cigarette

Inhaling deeply

The toxins of my crime

The toxins of my sin

Reminiscing.

He calls to me

Tells me it’s ready

Perfect width and depth

Ironically a little under six feet.

Without a word

We cradle him

His blood still fresh seeps through the blanket

Staggering by his weight

Until we toss him

To the final place he will lay

We stood there

In the silence of the eventide

Both eying the shovel nearby

Both apprehensive

We already knew what was next

Because three can only keep a secret,

If two of them are dead.

Olsfred James 2013©