with scent of lilacs blooming in the yard, lingering winter kill fetor
Spike’s was the kind of place where a rounder felt comfortable telling lies. It huddled in the southeast quadrant of where Old Placer Creek Road crossed Montana Highway 333 and became Last Lost Mountain Road which bridged the river and dodged into the mountains beyond. Beside the rickety one lane, wooden decked bridge, There was … Continue reading Fishing for Buffalo
“Omaha is a place I visited for a wedding once,” Vern said, “It was spring, and the air was sumptuous heavy with moisture and there were trees growing everywhere, and. . . .” “Wait. Wait,” Dean put up his hand, “Hold it right there. Vernie old boy. You said “sumptuous.” “Yes, I did,” the old … Continue reading Vernie Valenine Defines a Word for the Prof
On the beaver pond the moon Seen through willows, ageless Slap!—moon ripples away.
Everyone knew that Riley Holdcamp would eat anything except liver. It was not a secret. Since high school he had announced to every date and future potential spouse that if they ever served him liver and onions, he would extract revenge. He could not even tolerate to be in a dining room where liver was … Continue reading The Liver and Onions Eating Champion
May knew that it was unlikely that she was seeing Mickey. He’d been dead these twenty years. But she was pushing her walker over the threshold between the bedroom and the living room, feeling the deep ache in her hands and knees, and there Mickey was standing on the porch peering in through the shadows … Continue reading The Invitation
The big house on the hill calling at each across the rooms. Wind whistles in eaves.
one star fleets through clouds above of the bar’s neon "open" flickering off and on.
Ginny Tombrow notice that after she lodged a particularly virulent complaint that included the words “bird shit,” one of her more lucrative rentals in an up-scale part of town became a raven roost.
A watched pot never weeps And what we say on winter days is forgotten in our sleeps or lost in ordinary ways. Old dogs are already taught; and whether good is bark or bite, every moment is full and fraught with our forgotten, irritated smite. ******* On another note: All the King’s men might heal … Continue reading Minor Crimes