America has two kinds of migrants, those with money and those with hope, a farmer’s wife told me the day I stopped to buy some eggs.
Otis was once a monk who took no vows, was free to leave the abbey and eventually he did. I met him over chicken wings
Pete reads a story about an artist who never sold a painting until he… and then sold one for a million do… Finding the artist on the internet… his work is just odd shapes in bri…
Years ago my wife bought three wall clocks, atomic clocks they’re called. They require no batteries and you don’t plug them in.
After 30 years together, Carol tells me late one evening in the manner of a quiet wife that I have yet to write a poem about her, something she
Wonder Woman they call Sylvia, who excels at raising money to put child abusers in prison. The money she raises allows attorneys to prosecute
A long time ago you bothered him somehow. Since then he has bothered you back. You don’t know how or
An old friend lost an old friend the other day. Jim said they were both getting up in years and he just happened to outlast Herman. Jim was black and Herman was white but that had never...
They’ve been here for years two blue jays who live in our yard year round. In winter they’re silent at the feeder but screeching
He’s at least 70 now and has never forgotten his childhood. He lives with that child every day… He remembers that Thanksgiving Da… his family had parched field corn
Julie owns a cat that roams. Recently he’s been stopping at Jack and Brenda’s house where Brenda’s mourning her cat’s death. Brenda cries except when Julie’s…
Christmas is now the Holidays. But Hanukkah is still Hanukkah and Ramadan is still Ramadan. Easter still has its name. The media needs more time
Sarah makes sandwiches all day, piling meat and trimmings high on pillowy bread she spreads apart before her customers’ eyes. Hardworking men love her sandwiche…
Old Sol hires young Abdul, a refugee, to cut his grass and we… Saul tells his neighbor Old Paddy young Abdul does a good job and has a wife and three kids
Old Tim writes poetry now in his heaven of retirement. He’s had nice jobs over the years but swears retirement is better.
