Commiseration

The marble tablet
On a weathered grey gravestone
With moss clinging to its crevices
Says deeply lamented.
Sixteen schoolgirls peer closely at it,
Conscientiously read the name
And year of death.
"She was only eighteen when she died,
So sad, no?"
"Ya."

Wind

Harshly wrenches the umbrella from your wet grasp
And laughs.