I never think about bison. After all, I live in St. Louis, why should I? But when I went hunting for quail in Montana
It’s Monday not Sunday and the frail lady in black is the only person in the pews. She walked in with
I don’t see her often since she died but when I do it’s eerie over there at dawn or dusk.
Melanie cried for hours the day a drunk driver ran over her dog a week after she had an abortion. She loved that dog so much she told her mother she knew
An odd bobcat my father was looked more like a Siamese asleep in his recliner
Pastor Homer is a jealous man and Opal gives him fits through 40 years of marriage dancing, laughing kissing other men
That my parents were Irish immigrants is probably the most significant factor in my writing life. The English expelled my father from Ireland around 1920 at age 18 or so for running gun...
Every day the same people at the same table at the rear of the cafeteria. The maiden, 35 at least, is gray at the temples,
The Sixties almost killed Will, a wasted man who sobered up long enough to vote for JFK. And he’d have voted for RFK if he hadn’t been killed as well.
Unlike his peers his office holds no photo of a wife no indication that he has fathered five
Jill’s assignment as a new reporter was to interview an old bell ringer standing next to a red kettle outside a Walmart. Her editor had told her the man has been ringing the bell every ...
This morning I woke up early feelin’ good, feelin’ the way I felt 50 years ago, no aches, no pains, can’t wait to shower, hop on the El, go back to work,
Phil doesn’t go to church but after midnight he enjoys watching preachers on TV swing their bibles in the air, march across the stage, yell
He publishes poems by writers who find no publishers elsewhere. They suffer rejection and he gives them hope.
Next to me on the train going home to the suburbs is another guy stuck in a suit reading his paper, a normal-looking guy