Father and Son

Dreamers Are Gluttons




Over  A Bowl Of Potato And Corn Soup, Mr. Marvin Tells Me How He Castrated Baby Goats


Love Poem #1

Leather Death Fruit and Flying -- A Consideration

The Mechanic Takes on Language

135th & Crossing

It Could've Been

Kermit's Jazz

The Muse



In Time

Bottomed Out Language

Such Fears

Spreading Out Histories

Days Unfold

There is a Flutter of Noise in My Head


Father and Son


They both know the difficulty of painting is prep work. 

And in July’s apathy they scrape patches of sky from a house’s body

Pour piles of pale slivers from drop cloths,

Sweep cloud chips from sidewalks, sand stubborn clumps

Of paint, erase years the house had endured, the body of seasons

It satisfied.  Their fingers ache,

Their shadows burn.  They caulk and prime

And sit in the grass to eat cold sandwiches.  They smoke

While the sun glares off their painter’s whites.

And when evening comes deliberate and resigned

Like a young man approaching his life, they undo

The day’s equipment: fold drop cloths, clean brushes,

Hide the paint in the shed.  This is what a son can share

With a father: the muscle’s simple elegy,

The litany of coffee, aspirin, water, beer, the slow churning

Of truck tires going home.

Originally published in the Blue Collar Review


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