Blood on the snow;
Blood on his hands;
Grey matter on his face;
His face gone pale.
Five shell casings.
He picked them up;
Put them in his pocket;
Telling himself he didn’t know why;
He knew it was all a lie.
In a jewelry box the casings were kept;
He took them out from time to time;
He told himself he’d make them into a necklace one day
But never did.
He wasn’t one to wear a necklace.
All the same, he wore them around his neck.
For the rest of his life.