I tend to write about unredeemable people in bad situations. When I’m not writing, I like to let my dog drag me down the street where I live in Richmond, Virginia, and cooking for two. I have been published in Third Wednesday, antinarrative, and The Lake, among others.
The Waltzing Fool
the neighbor has parked in my space again
and I am unreasonably pissed
but I’m afraid to say anything
his wife said he’s been off his meds for weeks
then she moved out last Thursday
he strews furniture and pots and pans
across the lawn and into the street
there’s a sofa cushion,
a waffle iron, a ladle, a potted plant
I just don’t know what to say
that won’t sound like a cloud of lies
I’ll leave him to his manic waltz
as he falls apart, piece by tiny piece,
surrounded by forks and knives and dirty sheets
The red Virginia clay
stains her worn soles
as she stoops to her peas
Face wrinkled from
decades of sun, hands
brown and mottled,
soft in their forgiveness.
We know that our mother
will beg us for patience,
we of grasping hands
and gaping mouths.
Love us! Feed us!
Still she pulls at the
peppery radishes and
ready for our taking.
We who demand
so very much.