Yes to the
shells, no
to the meat.

Sauce?

I can get by
with just
seasoning
from the
cupboard.

Allspice
chili powder
paprika
oregano
garlic
little oil--
corn, not
olive.

To taste.

Don't
forget
a six.

Cerveza,
sure, if
you prefer.

There was
a time when
he'd just throw
and go.

Now with two
seasons in
Vegas and
one on the
pine, he works
a lot harder
between
starts.

He may never
get that big
pay day we all
talked about
in his rookie
season, but
he'll do a lot
better than
the rest of us.

We've all been given our own
name. And, this does nothing to
help the divide. The flippant
posture is more than just sloppy
decorum--it's a striking
metaphor. She of the haves. I
just laugh (though I should be
crying.) We are wasting real
estate and airspace and
bandwidth and patience. Today,
amongst the onslaught, so little
brings me joy. Couldn't we all
just use a little pick-me-up or
some means to forget the
terrifying reality?

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I am destroying my
kidneys each day
with 20mg of
Omeprazole
magnesium and
10mg of Atorvastatin
But, on the upside,
my cholesterol and
heartburn are sort
of under control.

Teen who
starved
to death
found in
diaper on
linoleum
floor records
show.

Get me something
on the ground. We
will turn two. A
six-four-three.
That a
boy.

Side retired.

She leads with her
chin. Delicate as it
is. Bent slightly,
moving haltingly
with elbows at
sharp angles.

Do not be fooled
by her jarring,
reckless gait.

She is an
undeniable
force.

While afoot
I happened
upon a head
on a *****
shoulder.

A little one
somewhere
is no doubt
teary.

Take two,
sorta, like
strips. Wrap
them, 'kay?
Easy, right?
Wrong!

It takes 24
frickin' days
& 6 mother-
******* steps
to complete.

Seriously.

It is hell, trust
me. A living
hell.

Today's baby will
swaddle you for
a mere fifty large.

Seven nuns
at the Seven
Sisters Tube
Station ready
themselves
for their trip.

Nicklas, small
& sharply dressed,
dapper even.
Ring fingers missing
from both hands,
lost @ McSorleys on
a drunken
evening,
practices his
bit and rubs
his nubs.

I have these
spots where
I stash the
old ones.

Each a
different
strength–
all weaker
than the
one on
my nose.

In an old
shoe shine
box, the
medicine
cabinet,
the kitchen
pantry…

But without
any one of
them I can
never manage
to lay my hands
on even one pair.

An echo
seems like
your best
friend until she
betrays you.

That's because
she's different
from everything
else around you...

She is always
listening. Sending
what you say
back to you...

But, she sits in
judgment &
will do the
same for just
about anyone.

She buys a
recipe magazine
at the register
of her local
supermarket
and fogs the
windows
reading it
in the car.

Then marches
back into the
store to acquire
the ingredients
& returns home
to prepare the
meal and eat it
alone to the
nightly news.

She lost her
husband in
Quang Ngai
Provence
fifty years
ago.

Now, a
lifetime,
another
husband
and two
children
later, in
retirement
she pushes
a coffee
cart and
makes small
talk at a
local VA
hospital—
her way
of giving
back.

O how the world laughed.
O how the world gasped.

But with wheels
instead of feet
Handle roared
around buildings
& leapt four
feet high.

And did
pirouettes
because, hey,
why not?

His Maker
took Natural
Selection—
human form—
turned
it on its ear.
Turned Handle
into a modern
chimera.

O what a marvel!

She delivers
guacamole
from an old
beater cop
car daily.

Dead head-
lamps and
missing
hub caps.

Spinning
from café
to deli to
restaurant
with tubs
of her dip.

Recently split,
her old man
left her for a
road worker—
one of the
ones who
flag you.

Now she’s
alone with
just her
avocados
and this
old B&W
prowler.