stubbed-out cigarette moldering wet in the sink on the Paris train
We often say, my wife and I, that Ella is our first dog, the one you make your mistakes on. But for me, that isn't true. My first dog was Jessie, a runty black shepherd mix. Some of the mistakes I made with Jessie were things like Don&
I can't sit down to write a poem without hearing Garrison Keillor's voice, reading it over my shoulder.
Woman in burqa Pushing her grocery cart Texting on her phone
In the indigo sky hang lights like lanterns strung from here to eternity. Bright holes punched in the night, they creep in from the east, queued for landing but aimed at the spotlit moon holding fast in their path. But the moon gives way, first to one plane, then the
The sidewalk trees drop their skirts of dirty snow for a silver-tongued winter rain, exposing a careless mulch of cigarettes butts, not to mention the occasional dog turd and chicken bone. Nothing better to do, trees, than eat, shit, and smoke as you wait at the curb to be
This morning, with a high of seventy degrees in the forecast, amazing for a November in Chicago, I drove the dog to Warren Park. That's where we go for a special treat instead of our usual neighborhood walk, because the squirrel chasing is most excellent, and there are
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