Sour wine
The acid taste of shame
On the fulcrum, duty
And rightness
Past choice but future
Turmoil
The clay cup flys
Shatters on the
rough stone wall
Wine splatter blood splatter
Damn Pilate
She enters and quietly
removes the shards
The stain will disappear
But not the tension
His look tormented
Hers resignation
Silently they share
Yesterday's moment
seared Into both
Another cup
A pour of wine
She speaks
He changed me
He nods both hands
Scrub his bristled head
Aye the same