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ALBANY, THURSDAY NIGHT
It is a cheap moteljust off the highway,across from the mallnow almost empty of cars,a room not much biggerthan a bed, a desk anda small nightstand.The diet cola is sweatingdespite the breezeof the air conditioner,the television flickers.I have left a wake up callhoping I arise beforethe jangle of the phoneknowing I will not.Corso lies on…
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THE PARK
He was taking a shortcut across the park. He saw the clouds building, about to bring the long-promised rain. He wasn’t sure why he decided to walk home rather than take the bus as he usually did. He didn’t like to walk, but the doctor had told him he needed to exercise more, and he…
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DEALING WITH IT
How strange it was today to takethe younger of our two cars, this onesoon to be ten, but low milageby anyone’s standards,under 2,000 miles a year,to the dealer after needinga jump start on a battery lessthan a year old, and knowing froma lifetime of such visits the havocthey wreak on your wallet, and thenwaiting more…
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LOBSTER SHACK
It squatted on the cornerbacked by an L shaped stripplaza, a grocery store, shoes,pool supplies, a bank, all datedand wholly nondescript.It was a gas station, major brand,four gas pumps, one dieselbut the service bays had been guttedof their large liftsthat oncegave the mechanics accessto the bellies of the metal beastsand now housed two giant tanksand…
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ME AND MY . . .
I didn’t stopto think it at all oddthat when I walked backwardthis morning my shadowdecided to walk ahead of me.I was going to ask him whyhe decided to lead, butas I turned to walk backto the car he fell insilently behind meand refused to answeras the clouds came over usand he slipped away again.
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A CITY OUT THERE
Somewhere out therein a city strugglingthere is a man dancingin the reflected lightof a street lampto the sound of the wind,there is a couplecaressing each other,wishing for just onecigarette,there is a babycalling for its motherfor a meal,there is a carparked in a drivewayits lights fadinginto the bleakness,there is a neon signflashing OPENinto the void of…
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BEAR WITNESS
Some like to say guns don’t killpeople, other people do.But no one I have ever heard ofhas been killed by a volume of poetry,although one man hit by a carcrossing the street without lookingdid have a small book, Howlby Allen Ginsberg, in his back pocket.How many have died by hateor anger this year alone, somenot…
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WITHOUT
He pretty much hated the outdoorscamping was a wholly alien conceptin parks for places for at besta short visit, a picnic lunchand then back in the car and home.He was not even a fan of the partsin the heart of the city, for theydrew crowds and he did notlike to be around other people.He wanted…
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WHITE BREAD
He was nondescript, innocuous. He named his dog Dog. His cat was called Cat. He grew daring with his parakeet and named it Wings. He wore beige from head to toe. Even his Sunday best, his “weddings and funerals suit” he called it, was beige. People wondered if his underwear was beige. He swore that…
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AT THE CAFE
We sit acrossfrom each otherseparated bythe small tablethat teeters,her cappuccinolicking at the rim.My toes danceagainst hersand she looks upquizzically.I smile and reachfor her handtouching her fingersfeeling the fine silverof the rings on each.She pulls her handback and looksinto the richbrown sheen.I stare out the windowat the odd carlookingfor a spacein the overfull lot,then pullingback ontothe…
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an old writer and his words 