In this one, you’re no sweating stallion; we’re both rotting. Red and bloody and I hear the flies buzz –we’re horse meat. I picked you…
You painted your toenails in the back seat while I white-knuckled the steering wheel, first time driving on the interstate, MapQuest directions folded in my…
To the boy loving his mother and his little brother as himself To the boy warmed by the sun that rose over the dune To…
This poem is part of the Great Lakes Review’s Narrative Map project. The bike wobbles as he turns his head to say hello to the girl…