I look down & see I’m standing on your grave its small bronze plate sans stone or earth-rise I meant no disrespect but blinked & you were there a flickering apparition of you haunting no one but yourself besides who do you think you are anyway to have died in 1890 four score plus one before my being born? you’re not here to tell me about some minor battle in the Civil War in which you shot & killed a man for something you believed in once leaving history to name you saint or cutlass-wielding pirate except that history has forgotten you not even a gadfly squashed between pages of a history text who are you Wilson Pickering? your name sounds an awful lot like Wilson Pickett who sang “I’ve Come a Long Way” & “In the Midnight Hour” doesn’t matter you didn’t stick around long enough for rhythm & blues or even the beginning of the jazz age oh but excuse me I must get back to the circle Wilson Pickering I just wanted to let you know I apologize for showing you the flats of my feet to acknowledge you & maybe mourn a little which is better than what I came for & at best a moment’s distraction for us both