With oaks and maples our only audience we sank the wooden box.  Owen ran the tractor.  Scooped dark earth studded with worms to fill the void.  I unfurled lengths of heavy sod.  Kentucky Blue.  Stamped a bronze placard down, hoping it would be low enough to elude the mower blades.  It was noon when we finished.  I ate a tuna fish on rye; potato chips tucked under the bread as we sat on a headstone and admired our work.

Randy Simons works in an ammunition factory by day and writes by night. He keeps busy at home with his wife, daughters, and two dogs.  His work has appeared in The Whitefish Review, The Los Angeles Review, and The Portland Review, among other places. Randy’s micro, Fossors¸ appears in the January 2013 issue of HelloHorror.

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