COFFEE
A mistake at the deli
gets me my mother’s coffee:
‘regular,’ normal once, in that time
when sweet and light and regular
were what life should be. (more…)
AN AMERICAN EXECUTION
Neal and Samuel walked along Geary, forcing their way through the throng of high school girls congregated outside of Burger King. They all wore uniforms and their starched shirts were all frayed and yellowed. “The kids from the snot school,” Neal said.
“What?”
“The kids from the snot school. It’s a line from Thomas that I never understood.”
“à Becket?”
“Dylan.”
“Bob?”
“Hoskins.”
“Johns.”
“That’s Hopkins. Um…Jasper.”
“Unitas.”
Neal chuckled. “There’s no Jasper Unitas.” (more…)
LITTLE FAT
I.
Cold spring puts green buds on gray branches all over the city. They open as it gets warmer and the babies appear. I swear this year I see more babies than ever before. Always when I wait in line the woman ahead of me holds a child over her shoulder, easy in her hands as a small yam. These children seek me out, radiance that doesn’t expect anything they reach towards me opening their fists, they offer precise rows of eyelashes. I see them on the bus, and out the windows at every intersection in strollers waiting to cross, bodies warm, bodies tucked in blankets.