Like that broad in an apricot bra hanging over the sill of her tenement window, the sun is over me now, its nectar laughing and falling.

When you were a boy in 1948 living on a block of bungalows in Chicago right after WWII you had a red wagon you pulled behind your mother

It’s a kindergarten soccer team and Jack’s the biggest kid. His father is the coach. The team is undefeated but there’s a problem

In 1962 my father toiled in Quinc… two weeks, no more, and saw no blacks except for two young ladies who moved like swans

The hands on the atomic clock upstairs finally stopped spinning. As you know, my dear, the hands have been spinning for two weeks. This morning the clock stopped

It was an ancient city. All the young people left as soon as they could but the old remained in their mortgaged huts

Raul is a kind man who plays marimba in a salsa band at LA clubs late into the night. Some afternoons he plays

I no longer put things back where they belong. I can’t remember where they came from never mind where

A drunk on the subway tells another drunk something a bartender told him. He says if the rich guy wins, it will be the first time

My wife likes to garden. She’s crazy about roses, lilies and daisies. She says I should get out in the garden and weed.

He tried so hard to be everybody’s friend, agreed with everything we said. Some of us liked him, others were indifferent,

Paul’s in his backyard on a Sunday afternoon barbecuing burgers. His wife and kids are hungry in the house.

What we are not who we are matters to the world. Who we are not what we are

Great Dane out walking day after the funeral small widow next door Donal Mahoney

A little boy from the city down on the farm for a day wanders away to look at the sheep and finds a bull