Sending out an address change to a friend I haven’t seen in 50 years, I say my wife and I are moving someplace new next month
Only the blind man with his leader dog and tapping cane stops when the homeless man standing near the curb
I will never forget him but I can’t remember his name it’s been so long ago. Maybe I never knew it. But I think of him on days
You never know who’ll be there though folks are dying to get in. Then suddenly you’re at the door, hat in hand,
When a young woman like that sails into the conference room, all masts billowing, there’s nothing the men around the table can do
Millicent was the daughter who danced ballet and sang until she met Butchie on a rainy day. He was in coveralls and cowboy hat and fixed
We write the stories of our lives between the bookends of birth and death They stay on the shelf
He asked and so I told him. The “cancer” poems stem from cancer in the family. Daughter’s terminal. Son’s a five-year survivor.
Ringing in the ears has no cure. It’s called tinnitus and you can pronounce it the way it looks or the way
On their 50th anniversary Sammy gave Dolly a necklace and told his darling wife that if they lived long enough one of them would wake
A bitter Christmas morning after a foot of snow last night. I shovel the sidewalk and make my way to the bird feeder. Before I can fill it, the wrens
There’s always something. Like the growth you found under your arm showering this morning but you decided to go
I found an old friend in a cardboard box in the basement where I left him forty years ago.
Odd fellow who does odd jobs in the neighborhood four seasons of the year has disappeared in high summer and his customers are nervous.
Two people so different can view the poor through different lenses and offer a solution but not the same solution