Monthly Archives: August 2018


He is on the corner everyday. Eight am sharp. I’m sure to catch the morning rush. Even the homeless know something about customer volume.

Today, he displays the anything helps sign. The crude black letters stretch across a degraded piece of cardboard, the crease lines wearing through from months of folding it. Or maybe years.

I take a long draw on my cigarette, feeling the nicotine plugging into my nerves. Rolling down the window, I blow out the smoke, my mind briefly drifting back to the evening before. The smell of Jon’s cologne on the sheets and the light graze of a touch. My lips curl into a smile.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the homeless man starting to edge towards my car. In annoyance, I realized he had seen my open window as a signal that I hadn’t intended.

I glanced at the light, hoping the green circle would save me from an awkward interaction. But with no luck, I quickly stubbed out the cigarette and started cranking up the window, cursing under my breath about not paying the extra cash for automatics.

I gently shook my head as he continued to approach and mimed a “Sorry.” His dry face slowly morphed into a scowl. I looked back at him with a mixture of exasperation and guilt blossoming in my head.

He stared back; his volatile deep blue eyes seeming to pierce into me.

For a brief moment, I felt compelled to see if I could find change or something to hand over to him. His open scrutiny bared on me like a spotlight with every driver around me watching the show.

But that feeling soon vanquished at the sound of a horn blaring from behind me. I hit the gas without a second thought, relieved to see the bright green burning ahead. Once I made the turn, I could just put the whole moment behind me.


There is a boredom
hung in the air
on a hot afternoon.
One of those days that
has a busy mind circling
in a neurotic frenzy of
“What to do?”

I can’t seem to even summon
the energy to move.
The flutter of the leaves
out the window
and the hum of air
seeping through the ducts
seems to be enough.

Part of me continues to trudge.
There is a list,
you see,
and it is not done.

And the other part shrugs
and continues to keep me down,
letting the quiet of the house
and the soft breathe of sleeping dogs
be the only sound.

The tone on the living room walls
changes as the clouds pass by.
My eyes dim with them
slowly fluttering
as the disgruntled part of my mind
gives up
and every sense shuts.


Tell me again
those stories
of what is was like
years ago.

When youth was in
your favor
and summer’s were
a dream.

When nights seemed
and time stretched
for your fantasy.

To grow up
running along dirt roads
and dreaming of futures
with the girl
you didn’t yet know.

The memories are distant
but it seems
with age
they just keep
coming on.

I like to learn
these secrets
of foolish childhood thoughts.
Even more,
I love the smile
it brings you
and the laugh
that warms
my heart.