Breakfast meeting. Lunch
meeting. Outside, homeless men
plead, Will work for food.
Business as usual
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Breakfast meeting. Lunch
meeting. Outside, homeless men
plead, Will work for food.
When you’re not here we
skip dinner, fall asleep with
the TV still on.
Undereye circles
purple as grapes, lids heavy
as harvest-ripe vines.
Again you’re staying
up late. God forbid you should
worry about me.
Too few syllables
to write about Blogs We Luv.
Click through and visit.
I was first published
in Seventeen magazine
thirty years ago.
I’m unsure whether
joy or terror will greet the
news that I am live.
Opportunity
is knocking. Finally, I
will open the door.
Today we act as
if nothing happened. Over
night a cold front passed.
My new business cards,
bearing my new title, all
printed with typos.