LULLABIES ON THE SOFA BY MICHAEL JACK O’BRIEN
grandfather holds the child
to his chest hoping
that both could get
a bit of a snore
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grandfather holds the child
to his chest hoping
that both could get
a bit of a snore
I fall.
A patchwork of squares:
russet, lime, and khaki, sewn with gold
somewhere west of Tulsa
and east of Wardell’s bar.
Cars whipped past dangerously, you had to be aware
of how fast they were going, and it was night
and I was in love with that road.
I turn on CNN while putting away groceries–
jet crash in the Hudson, plane floating
like a lost whale. I put the milk
into the fridge. It’s the weariest work of my life,
I fight the urge to
whack him in the face.
Posted by admin | May 31, 2017 | In The News | 0 |
Posted by admin | Jul 13, 2017 | Non-Fiction | 2 |
When I got off the train at Valpo, I was surprised to see that my weekend hostess was an actual hippie. We hung out with her friends, sitting cross-legged on the floor of her tiny living room, smoking and drinking, talking about the war and civil rights, and listening to Jefferson Airplane.
Read MoreAt terminal 4, gate 24 I promised
not to make eye contact
Or commit any acts of speech
until we swoop sideways over the last vista
and pounce on a tarp.
Posted by admin | Mar 7, 2017 | Non-Fiction | 1 |
Charleston, S. C. awoke this morning to learn of the incomprehensibly horrific mass slaughter of nine participants of a bible study class at historic Mother, Emanuel Church.
Read MoreA black swarm
takes over evening sky
wheeling and whooshing
and suddenly
they are dancers
“The masks!” I shouted; “Put on your mask!” I looked up and was blinded by the light.
Read MoreFrom house to house they spread glorias and hosannas
and others of the dictionary’s hangers-on.
Inside, their targets are chattering at satellites
