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Mom would dig through one of her music boxes to pick out Saturday morning's cleaning jams. Tattered, battered Payless shoeboxes with lids ripped to shit, filled to capacity with piles of cassettes; greatest hits albums, mostly, or Time Life compilations of mid-to-late…
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45s I’ve kept wrapped in newspaper in the attic. These are all mine. Some doubling up in sleeves. Some pushing tears in the seams.
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He spotted her in Sarasota Whole Foods surveying the artichokes
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To find myself in a straight relationship which challenges my communications skills and tries my patience while improving my status among my peers and family.
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Luminous as a newborn's face nursing in the moonlight
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We do not want to be here. Need ensnares/
and pulls us. We put on its tightened face/
which mirrors what each guest will wear
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We were old. Wind came in with small threats and played games with drapes. A print of orchids and some other green affair that looked to me like kiwis. Sadie was arranging some items on a desk and I noticed there was a cricket on the window. I was thinking…
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A pair of snakes contemplates gulping a pair of frogs.
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I was good-looking, marketable and ambitious. And that never hurt anyone cracking it big ...
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She listens to the rhythm of the tide, each surge and surrender like the death of an old life and the resurrection of something new.
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My dad drove a Model A Roadster
and had a photo taken of him on a hunting trip up in Wisconsin
with one leather boot up on the running board
and a .22 caliber pistol in his hand
like Ernest Hemingway and Clark Gable rolled into one
My dad ro
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Your pajamas torture us.
When moist they uncomfortably cling. They have evil buttons, and they cause us to stumble on them in the dark.
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When Roger was small his two favorite toys were a tiny, squat doll called Care and a rubber millipede.
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My uncle lived part-time in prison, in a cell with a blanket, pillow, and towel. The remainder of his days he lived in a small house on Prospect Street.
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I wrote her a poem.She said, “I hate poetry.” I said, “OK, just read the words then."
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Because it was almost like love, love. Because the potential for that innocence beckoned me, and I became reckless in search of it. I exposed my heart.
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Picture it-/
air not clogged with the shit//
that makes Beijing the dark joke/
of the developed world.
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When the sailor heard the 2nd
World War had just ended
He grabbed the woman in the white dress
Bent her backwards in Times Square
And kissed her real good
And the photographer
Just happened to be there
At the right moment
But then
As
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We sat in a row on the long couch and no one's legs could reach the floor. Granddaddy took the first one the kid who no one knew and said to us "the rest of you stay put."
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He was a Jack Russell terrier
hanging like a baby
in a carrier
strapped to my chest
He had all four legs
wrapped around me
and was licking me
with his long tongue
I asked him what his name
was, and in a real low voice
he said
Min
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“They’re Rocky Mountain Oysters,” the blond said. “Fresh. You’ll absolutely love them Jim.”
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If you were a poem / it’d be called/
Better Homes and Gardens.
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Billy's days were much like his yesterdays, with little hope the ones to come would be any different.
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When the medicine started to interrupt her sleep, she made elaborate breakfasts – sweet potato pancakes, crepes with homemade cream cheese filling, omelets with spinach and brie, hand-rolled croissants stuffed with bittersweet chocolate. It was in those e
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I was at Mike's place when the call came. My brother sounded so accusing that I wanted to punch him in the face. But he was way upstate. "Dad died today," he said, as if I could have somehow known or prevented it. It was sudden. A heart attack. He was…
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there's looks between the covers and shotguns in the drawer
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Always in a hurry/to spoil your/weekend
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It was so hot we walked out on our husbands. There were reasons, we supposed. They left the refrigerator doors open all day, grabbing beers when they passed by, tossing the sticky caps upon counters. They drove their Metropolitans to buy food, leaving th
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—Well, are you having an affair with Jack Mahler?
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