Poetry

Mother hardly seemed to be in the house but more snoring a song of herself all down the hallways and under the covers where nothing was adding enough attention to her. Half-brother and

she liked everything about him short of one branch leafless and bony deep within the tree like a withered finger extending from a young hand. at times hard to ignore, especially when the

Dad was a lush and Mom was a slattern. The hitting and kissing established a pattern. First came the rabbi, naked on a roof. His aloofness was a front. His smacks were playful.

See the lights from above and try to pick out familiar places in glowing cul-de-sacs, highways, restaurants, homes. Might as well stare at a fire, find patterns in soft glowing coals— the lights

We are halfway past the watermelon stands in our old car. The car we thought about naming Magnum because it reminded us of picking palmetto bugs out of our wine glasses on the