

Swimming
We swim through the living room toward the television while our mother watches reruns of Friends. She yells, “For shit’s sake, stop that, go outside!” But we don’t go outside. It’s the middle of the day, it’s 103 under the pines, and we’ve outgrown—by years—the small plastic pool Mom bought us with her egg money. Egg money buys everything we… Read more →
Hook
buy me a last drink something cold & neat take me through the lobby with the knowing lamps just lit pry me loose a stuck penny I’ll wipe my boots on your nagging doubt & later when you lace your shoes overtip the maid vanish like fog my fingers will invent you on hotel stationary crisp lined paper shoulders eyes… Read more →