Sean doesn’t fall for our parents’ lies, nor does he bother to contradict them. He knows the electric bill hasn’t been paid, the kitchen will never get painted, the claims about finding a new place to live are yarns.
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Between trysts you toil,
knowing you aren’t
her only one.
As expected, most of the residents were older adults, many in wheelchairs.
We had something in common already.
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He waited a minute while I surveyed what he was wearing: a girl’s sleeveless pink blouse, matching shorts, pink girls’ running shoes with white ankle socks, his/her long blond hair held in a pony tail by a pink barrette.
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And now every time you try to write a poem,
it feels like a
eulogy.
You may forget, but the riverbed does not.
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God says you can’t abandon your children. I did that and now I’ve been forced to live like this: afraid.
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Just tell the lovely ladies of the Auxiliary,
that I’m here to speak to the reports of my demise,
which are being grossly inflated,