Table of Contents
A summer job working in a greeting card factory turns into a nightmare.
An Interview with Kathryn Mockler and David Poolman
I Get on my Bike to go Look at Art in Galleries
Share: My father walks through the scrub, a shortcut, to get to Walmart where he meets up with his friends for coffee on Friday afternoons. He says teenagers are always hanging around back there, barbequing something. I’m assuming my father has never smelled pot and that’s what he’s smelling now, so I say, Dad, stick to the streets, because I am afraid for him, even though these kids are probably mellow from weed.
Share: Bar Napkin Sonnet #7 The face I’m seeing in the bar’s back mirror looks tired and just my age, I hate to say, as if I need a sign that’s any clearer I been on the floor lookin’ for a chair to get more sleep and drink much less ouzo.
Share: Translated from the Greek by Shorsha Sullivan Table of Contents
Share: Uncle Surrounded by the Iron Curtain, all things faded faster: suits slicked at the elbows and especially the knees, shoes scuffed as though from constant kicking. You, too, magician of my childhood, conjuring something from nothing in the single bare bulb kitchen-made-do-for-darkroom, lightened to a negative of yourself - pale blue pajamas and thin long-fingered hands folded on the white sheet, all around you the lush blooms, the industrious Soviet summer.