December 4, 2019
I saw Horace on his Porch, told me I won’t get far,
In between big swigs of Beam’s Eight Star.
He sat there every morning dropping pearls of advice,
Bumming a smoke, telling ladies they looked nice.
He lived across the road from a chain liquor store,
Every dawn huffing to it, and back each evening for more.
December 2, 2019
My sixth-grade daughter Jenny feels sorry for the Sioux.
She’s learned two things in school as far as I can see: to
stop sucking her thumb and to pity anyone who doesn’t
drive a Volvo.
Her teacher resembles the woman who used to clean houses
in my parent’s neighborhood in East Memphis, a heavy-set
gal who could cook real good but could never stay for supper.
November 29, 2019
i don’t want to name it.
Sistine. Ku Klux. Foul.
it’s something like the hydrosphere,
somehow intimidating, like a single hair
against an unmarked piece of paper.
November 28, 2019
“I wanted to be concise.”
My father said about his obit
That he emailed my sister and I on a Wednesday
with even an LOL somewhere in the chain
of emails about it when, upon reading it, we said
just because you say something isn’t morbid
doesn’t make it not morbid,