Corn chips, on the cob, in a can, the mash-bill of his bourbon he was expecting, even the feed of cows turned steak, hamburger he ate no second thought, but then his soda, ketchup (all…
Browsing Category Poetry
An All or Nothing Machine
People don’t grow up the way they used to. By which I mean— sometimes I store trash in the freezer to make it to garbage day. I harness the cold to disinfect my jeans. My…
Three Poems
Going Out of Business Here, at the end of all things, or at least the end of the mall, where in another lifetime my aunt wore heels and bright suits every day, took me to…