122 10 7
|
Torn paper, an insulting note from a nurse he’d given the eye to as he scrubbed up for a routine appendectomy.
|
13374
|
young tourists from Latvia or Estonia take selfies and mug for the camera
|
144136
|
These huddled souls could be a cult of fairytale scholars exiled to the area by unseasonal floods in Belarus...
|
146129
|
A red-faced man with a walkie-talkie rushes to her side and speaks into the microphone, summoning aid,
|
12655
|
My father fell midst wax and sticks into the rubble of our family woes.
|
144117
|
A spasm rippled across your face as the dropping sun emphasized your bloodshot eyes. “More fool me,” you said, propping me back in the now upright pram and pushing it along towards the church gate.
|
1711211
|
I’ve quit my job and squirreled away a bit of cash to get me started. I’ll live with Eoghan Brady and some other Irish guys in a house in Harrow and Wealdstone.
|
1611110
|
In this glass your eye looms like the Cyclops, huge and bleary, the red veins like those that stick out of the beheaded turkey at Christmas before Mam cleans it up for stuffing.
|
10655
|
My father’s ashes are still in the Jacob’s Kimberly Cream tin, weighed down by a pile of old manuscript pages from a novel that’ll never see daylight.
|
156108
|
The back of the car was where all the words landed, all the sighing and weeping, all the bemoaning of the list of those who’d wronged you.
|
11455
|
She had been dreaming, of a crowded street and her small daughter who’d slipped her hand and got lost in the throng of shoppers.
|
17076
|
“Wouldn’t it be a grand thing altogether if a poor creature like yourself won the money?”
|
10896
|
The younger recovers from her fit and wipes the spittle from her chin with the back of her fist. She’d kill for a jar, a small whiskey and water in the local.
|
1621614
|
Her mother was one of fifteen, so there were children and grandchildren like the mitten crabs scuttling along the lakefront on her parents' farm.
|
10287
|
Make a space and inhabit it by placing two lamps at either end of the sofa, eschewing the need to populate the coffee table with Taschen’s Book of Symbols and Ansel Adams’ Yosemite.
|
