still and all.

Slabs of concrete.
Probably weigh a ton each.
Literally. A ton.
*
And the scorching heat—
just when you expect it to lift
those slabs half an inch, perhaps
—it shoves them even deeper
into the dirt.
*
You kneel, resigned.
You rest your palms on one
of’em concrete slabs.
And as you look closer,
you see your name engraved into it.
You’re incredulous.
You dig your nails in the concrete,
attempting to remove all
eleven letters.
Instead of disappearing, though,
they fill up with the black-red
of the blood seeping through
your fingertips.
*
They might as well stay—
the letters—you now realise.