July heat weighs heavy on my shoulders like a freight train or a case of cement poured on me instead of our work site. Troweling blades have been banned ever since one carved a jagged lightning bolt of pain deep into my forearm, blood sloshing like a 7-Eleven slurpee onto the newly-poured sidewalk. It needed … Continue reading →

It’s the third Wednesday of April. Mom comes home with her monthly allowance. What little is left after the government fees. Prices rise as the allowance shrinks. The line is long and slow at the food bank, winding and lethargic like a river run dry. It doesn’t buy enough, it never does, and each month, … Continue reading →

I’m sorry I spilled that chocolate milk on your pants. The other kids laughed for weeks. Continue reading →

as an almost adult I almost know for sure that the word “barrow” does not exist. It didn’t exist when I was young, I’m almost sure because “barrel” just made more sense. so I dare you to try and change my mind. You won’t. I promise. Continue reading →

Just because I am old do not tumble me dry. Toss me away with those unused Wheat pennies, Buffalo nickels, and Mercury dimes in those pickle jars in the basement. Do not bleach my dark memories Salvation Army my clothes to the poor because I died. Do not retire me leave me a factory pension … Continue reading →

Old men walk funny with shadows and time eating at their heels. Pediatric walkers, prostate exams, bend over, then most die. They grow poor, leave their grocery list at home, and forget their social security checks bank account numbers, dwell on whether they wear dentures, uppers or lowers; did they put their underwear on? They … Continue reading →

Trying to keep a balance between Ted Kooser and Ocean Vuong, over streets of cobblestones, left by all the poets before you, traffic rushing past, new styles, new poets, burbling, bullshitting, bumping along ahead. Some critic opens his car door knocks you onto the street, although your brakes scream or maybe it’s you screaming. It … Continue reading →

A barren woman takes one in her brown hand, caresses its belly; as its hood flares, kisses the yellow spot on its head where the Buddha left his blessing. Continue reading →

In church as a child, where the Pledged pews force spines into unpleasant uprightness, (by sermon’s end I’d be drooping carpetward,) he’d sing: round little man, lumpy as a dog’s bed, crooning coffeehouse acoustic, eyes closed or unfocused off to the left somewhere, gone, then he’d return, stooping a bit under applause, plump cheeks tucked … Continue reading →

I go to this bookshop, pick up a book called The Elm Tree by Peter O’Neill and it’s strange, the bookshop lady asks as I buy it if I’m a friend of his. I’m not – it just looked good but jesus, poor Peter. and she just assumed, too; as if anyone buying his book … Continue reading →