The convenience store is five blocks from home. I stop there often after work, and the manager smiles at me when I enter because I’m one of those husbands who after filling up with gas, stops in for soda, snacks, or anything else…
The trouble with loving poets is that they leave a long paper trail. They want you to read it, too.
It’s true what they say. It’s rarely good when your phone rings after midnight.
We move to page 154. The walls moan like a grandmother who has walked up too many steps. Then they settle back into their braces. No one else seems to feel the shift…
I discovered truth one day during my seventh shot with a tennis ball machine, as imparted by a one-handed topspin backhand. At the time no thought was given…
You have to use the other hand, your left hand. Everything is different…
…your dad put on a Bossa nova record and the other dads clustered by the stereo, talking about vacations, real estate, cars, baseball, their icy old-fashioneds jingling like tambourines.
Meeting the puppy for the first time, my brother shook his head and looked at me like I’d made another bad decision.
I offer you these two cups of air, said the rabbi under the chuppa. One for you, and one for you. Though I’ll not tell you whose is whose.
With small but steady hands, the care of a surgeon, I bring my Swiss Army knife to the center of my latest subject: a faded green rabbit of matted velveteen…
