On fight.

The other week I walked outside the front door and sat on the stoop. Was on the phone, talking with my dad, back home on the farm, and figured I might as well try weeding, mainly since I was offended at the beds and heck, I was the man living here. So I start pulling […]

On Cuts.

Just now, I was able to book an appointment with a barber I’ve never met, to sit in a chair I’ve never seen, to give him jurisdiction of my crown for 15 minutes. I will give him $25 and I will leave. It will have been a transaction of necessity and ease and I will […]

On the tracks

Most of life I learned by walking from this side of the tracks to that side. I walked home from middle school. Every day. Three miles or so. With my saxophone always and another kid named Clay sometimes. I’d learned about entropy by walking along the train tracks. Because tracks, you see, have already chosen […]

On a spring morning

George often wondered how many people in the city realize how much the life of the great city meant to him and countless others like him; how, long ago in little towns down South, there in the barren passages of night, they listened to the wheel, the whistle, and the bell; how, there in the […]

On the line.

When it would drop below freezing, the denim would become ice. My rec-league soccer shirt would stretch, pull at the collar, form a semicircle of crystals. Once I took a bat and swung at a frozen apron. It exploded. It was clean and it was red and it was in hundreds of pieces by the […]

On thin ice

It’s just a peculiar winter. I was out jogging last night, after dark, down Revolutionary roads. Past signs for Indian footpaths that are now named after colonists. Houses from 17– that have cable internet. They glowed, the warmth of density. In years past the glow might pull up a chair on the Massachusetts snow-drifts, out […]

On the game.

I sit here. Waiting to see Eli. Brady. Waiting on the news coverage to get back to meltdowns or occupations or  those fluff stories we saw before ’08 or especially before that September in ’01. Waiting for the talk we’ll share at pubs, here in the Commonwealth, as we speculate on what will happen next […]

On library books

There was an old house. No more than four blocks as the crow flies. Probably six as the fox. It was filled with books. It was also a library. The Houston Memorial Library. I don’t know what I was to memorialize there. Maybe a confederate general. They had book sales every now and then. Those […]

On firewood

Son, we’re not going to be able to make it for Thanksgiving. The dog is real sick – he’s been sick for months, but now he can’t even stand up. And I can’t just put him down to come up there, I’m sorry. That’s the call I got last week. Last week when our turkey […]