The men appear to be outliving the women. They show up now At the funerals With their so-called Friends. Companions. How quick to judge Are the youngest And supposed Most pious. Let her soul rest, They say. It’s only been Six months, They say. He’s never been alone, The others say. He’ll die as soon …
For years, I tried to read Don Quixote, Revering the Spaniard writer in me, Skimming a thin abridged edition, Sophomoric in World History. Later, greater windmills. Exotic becomes quixotic. The bookmark stops. Again. Dare you go on, Wannabe pícaro? No. Gracias. We underdogs Know the ending anyway, Some will never get their …
For years I tried to start smoking, scurrying out before theme parties: Bad Taste Ball, Red Light, Pajammy Jam—to pick up Pall Malls, Only to find the shreds of tobacco slipping past my lips. Tonight, some fifteen years later, I rushed out for a walk, alone, Minus wife, kids, mother-in-law, Left a flat cauldron of …
Do your push ups in the sun, little one. Still spastic, plastic, After all these millennia. We rule the school now! Yet, We’re as big as we’ll ever be. You still have a chance, to dance To pulverize our little bones In your jaws of life.
