-Sunny Vignettes-
The sun plays doubles on a clay court, while I open. Condensation marches an upheaval- sun closes blinds. Thumbs on antipasto plate scraping crumbs into trash. Sun rafters support only dust, contractors worry. Place the eggs next to the watermelon. Wait, leave them in the basket. Wary of its reflection, sun shatters ocean in disgust. Orders tequila. She wears plaid and is not afraid of overalls. A flat tire and we are baffled by the carjack. Sun dry is tamer than the sundry it sunders. Can’t carry a sun with only crash cymbals. Oak branches crease and fold effulgent origami. Coffee is sun’s shadowself only warming inward. His galoshes and duckprint boxers. +40 Share...
Read More-Lunches Passing in the Afternoon-
Jen paced. She had windows, and a scrunch holding her hair in appropriate tension. No she didn’t. It was that friz. And I think she was in more of a desk-to-hall yoga pose. I couldn’t decide if her pants-suit was a metaphor or if the yellow broach pinned it. Like a mustard stain I was trying to rub out of my poem. Tiny pieces of napkin rolling themselves joints by her face. What I’m trying to say, she wasn’t. And I just ate my sandwich. Egg salad, oregano, tiny olive oil. We make our order and someone wraps it in wax. Like all lunches should pupate. Their too-neon peppers drop off, metamorphose olives. And there’s Jen. Half a loaf, with Asiago cheese. She flaps. The office lights refuse to yield. Somewhere a stack of papers sloughs off; makes an unappreciated...
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