Months roar by like weeks and weeks disappear like days, two coots in a bar admit on New Year’s Eve, reminiscing over a beer

Old lady on a park bench hunkered down babushka and shawl snow and wind dancing everywhere

That’s a very big tree and a boy scout could climb it with all the right gear. But it’s a condominium, too. You would disturb families.

It’s a small backyard I’ve watched for years from an upstairs window while chained to a computer. Whatever the weather

When the president speaks from the podium and mentions the 20 children shot to death at Sandy Hook by a lunatic with a rifle,

When you have an hour to live what matters then is Christ in a pyx in the vest pocket

I’m not saying my father hated the English, God forbid. If he were still alive, he’d hate to hear me say that. He’d correct me right away and say he didn’t hate the English. Truth be to...

Outside, the still of crickets. Inside, petals of a cold sore foliate,

Where did it go? I really don’t know. I lost it weeks ago in the middle of the night. Too tired to get up.

Jesse was a common man he never made a lot of money he had a troubled marriage. His wife left him for another man he never saw his kids again.

Joe went to the mall yesterday and found a big tent pitched at the head of the drive. Someone selling fireworks. The sign said discounts

It tears the stomach out of Roy to see old folks shopping at an all-night grocery store ancient couples, on canes and walkers