Inferno of a summer day Mother’s dozing Tommy, tiny, three, paring knife in hand tiptoes out, flops
I like to watch master chefs on television do their thing. My favorite is Jacques Pépin when he has to chop an onion. No one chops an onion faster.
Thunder and lightning at first, as I understand it, and then the moon will split in half and disappear and the stars will go dark
They were refugees, too, back in the Forties, settled in Chicago, learned English, some a lot, some a little,
You have to be married at least 30 years to know what your wife is thinking before she says it aloud. More than 40 years to know
I know very little about computers but I use one for basic needs. Poems, stories, not much more. Like some nice women I’ve known, I’ve discovered computers
Raul is a kind man who plays marimba in a salsa band at LA clubs late into the night. Some afternoons he plays
Thirty years ago, long before ISIS started executing Kurds, Muslims and Christians, I hired a Pakistani Muslim as an art director in Chicago. I was an Irish Catholic editor putting out ...
I never think about bison. After all, I live in St. Louis, why should I? But when I went hunting for quail in Montana
If love’s real, not the puppy kind, it’s not just a feeling but an act of the will a constant giving
Tonight I can’t sleep so I ponder the universe and all the planets around me swirling in syncopation with me on one of them
He likes people if they are useful. Women are useful. Employees are useful. Voters are useful.
Herb’s a middle-age son with a big family and lots of pressure. Too busy to care for Mom and Pop so he drives to Shady Lane to see if he thinks they might like the p…
“Quiet, please,” I tell her, “I want to hear the music.” She is sitting next to me again, this time on a paisley couch, a woman in a lime bikini I met
I no longer put things back where they belong. I can’t remember where they came from never mind where