The Field in May |
Sometimes my dog comes back from death
quite less dramatically than it sounds,
chuffing through the green wheat of spring
and asking with brown eyes about summer.
I have no answer for her, just a smil...
Posted by on Sun, 17 Aug 2008 23:20:00 GMT |
Door to Door |
Two members of Al Qaeda touch
my doorbell. Fisheyeing them,
I weigh my chances with the Macemy father gave me when I left home.
They wear bone-colored fabric
around their heads, vests wit...
Posted by on Sun, 10 Aug 2008 14:45:00 GMT |
Touch Football |
She plays with the boys because she wants his hands
on her; he has asked her to join because her breathfell on his face by accident in the library. We coil
each other, play Tesla from afar, our...
Posted by on Sun, 03 Aug 2008 17:51:00 GMT |
Cover Me |
Cover Me
she said and then
ran with the trowel
from where I was bent
over the tomato plants
as if her dash
to the fertilizer
was in Vietnam for ammo
or during a bank robbery
for a hostage
...
Posted by on Sun, 27 Jul 2008 08:43:00 GMT |
