My father’s spade
leaning on a box in my cluttered breezeway my father’s spade pants, grip worn smooth, tail twitching, eager for his …
leaning on a box in my cluttered breezeway my father’s spade pants, grip worn smooth, tail twitching, eager for his …
I don’t know what they do this time of night. I just hear them squawking. And they sound a little …
remember how busy they are — babies, homework, office — when you are old and wanting them to serve you …
that you will fade away over six point four years, so says the wise actuary, and that I should budget …
How it is that it comes to this — that all that matters is clean, deathly clean? And yet we …