“Um, I insist,” Maggie said. Now she was really confused. The girl let her pay the six dollars and she grabbed her breakfast and sat down. She noticed the other customers looking at her and whispering. She pulled up her phone and looked in the camera.
I followed you here but it’s my city now
I think you’re still here but I can’t feel you so
you’re as good as dead
You’re as good as gone
Groups of laughing children pedaled by; joggers ran past me with their loud music. I was almost in a good mood when I reached Parque Revolución, passing people playing volleyball, hula hooping, and giving massages all on or just by the sidewalk.
everyone is here for fun, some by the pill and others
from the bottle. There’s a black dog hanging
around looking for attention, a young woman asks me
if I can keep an eye on her drink: trusting me, sensing
no evil.
We’re all family, we all stem from one seed. The universe is a whole out of which we are divided, but falsely. Smile upon your brother, your sister. Seek out the places where the people go. Talk with them, laugh with them. Sing and dance with them. Speak a language we can all understand. Love is in the handshake.
“We don’t know,” said Roger, and he shrugged and looked me in the eye. I don’t know what innocent eyes look like, but his looked innocent, I guess, like a dog’s when he tries a new thing and looks at you to ask, “Is this all right?”
From the start Charles was playing single-note solos on the guitar, although this was not common for guitar players at this time. The guitar was traditionally a rhythm instrument, not intended for soloing. Nevertheless, Charles started out playing the blues, and one of his favorite tunes in his early playing years was “St. Louis Blues.”
We trekked during days and at time during night, guided be beacons of pale aurora light, rivers and curtain, sheets without end we wondered if this is how all rainbows end. Each morning we rose and glanced to the east, and wondered if polar bears danced when we sleep.
To Sam, his subdivision's lack of ownership represented a better world—his derelict mile, with its deleted proposed name. Abandoned cement foundations like tombs lined the curved path he drove monthly when provisions forced him from his mausoleum.
Erna didn’t give me a football or a toy truck. She gave me a tea set meant for a little girl. At least 50 years have passed and I still remember how much I loved that present. And whatever my mother may have thought, she said nothing negative, nor did she take it away from me.
A lot of the bees escaped my mouth,
hoverering in a cloud over my hair.
Then they grabbed words I was thinking
in their sticky legs, random words like
taffeta, prawns, boneyard
the water, always, the water, flowing / to nowhere, really, no lake, / the pointless stream / conscious of nothing but its own movement, / wearing my edges civil / bit by interminable bit, / uncalculated and always so near
A few haunts still standing
Alleys of unseemly intent
Walking on 8th Street
Brownstones with rustic, rusty fire escapes
Ceramic tiles announce house numbers with style
Façades of inexhaustible detail
I could walk forever
As he started the third performance of the Last Rites, we watched with tears in our eyes. Why, I don’t know, but I looked out the window and the squirrel was still there. It had moved further to the end of the branch to get closer to the window and had not left since we first arrived. Its stare at Mom and Father Pittman was as intense and sustained as I have ever seen from any animal.
A clatter of throaty utterances splits the silence. I cock my head like a bird listening for a worm. The utterances are so numerous, distinct words are garbled. Still, they seem restless, apprehensive, troubled.
Minimalist is
any item I see and dislike. Green
is Art Deco. Looking half forward
to the upscaled, temporarily
bruised illusioned face followed by looking
fully downward at five hundred
and fifty dollars.
“‘Not in the habit of investigating the composition of her wardrobe,” I echoed, eyeing Mitchell to see if he was taking this in. “Kid’s got a way with words.”
“Yes,” Bobby went on, “My mom says I’m very erudite and have an expansive vocabulary.”
“Well, here’s to that,” and I lifted my drink and finished it.
I worry that eventually
the thought of leaving
won’t make you sad enough
to stay and you say
fear is just love
facing the wrong direction
After your visit was up, and you limped from my house, I found your bejeweled slippers in my garbage, both tongues dislocated, yet still cupping your phantom foot. I pictured your orange-pink smile looking up at me. It never changed. Not when you slipped. Not even the second before you started free-falling.