Table of Contents
Memoirs of a Grand Canyon Boatman
Scouting the New World
The Audacity of Bubble-Bursting
Shards–Two Teens’ Flight to Uzbekistan
Leaving Home–The Day of Judgment
Sunshine Factory—Part One
A summer job working in a greeting card factory turns into a nightmare.
Reality–What A Concept
I've yet to hear a really good John McCain impression.
Beware of the Alternator
An Owner’s Manual for a Misused Car
The Sound and the Furry
"How many mice does it take to screw in a light bulb?"
How To Fail At Being a Lesbian
Read a Wikipedia article about tracing A-Z with your tongue…
Hitler My Hero
He held the opinion that Hitler was a fashion innovator.
Step on a Crack
Something was stirring, demanding her attention.
I want to wallow in my organs.
Questions for The Reluctant Narrator
An Interview with Kathryn Mockler and David Poolman
Faithfully Observed
Rob Matthews ‘Kindred’ Drawings
On a Sunny Day, Early Autumn, in Toronto…
I Get on my Bike to go Look at Art in Galleries
The Fall, Revised
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Share:FacebookTwitterLinkedinTumblrPrint   My father walks through the scrub, a shortcut, to get to Walmart where he meets up with his friends for coffee on Friday afternoons. He says teenagers are always hanging around back there, barbequing something.  I’m assuming my father has never smelled pot and that’s what he’s smelling now, so I say, Dad, stick to the streets, because I am afraid for him, even though these kids are probably mellow from weed. 
Three Sonnets
Share:FacebookTwitterLinkedinTumblrPrint Bar Napkin Sonnet #7   The face I’m seeing in the bar’s back mirror looks tired and just my age, I hate to say, as if I need a sign that’s any clearer I been on the floor lookin’ for a chair to get more sleep and drink much less ouzo.
Extract 23 from Z213: Exit
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Three Poems
Share:FacebookTwitterLinkedinTumblrPrint Uncle   Surrounded by the Iron Curtain, all things faded faster: suits slicked at the elbows and especially the knees, shoes scuffed as though from constant kicking. You, too, magician of my childhood, conjuring something from nothing in the single bare bulb kitchen-made-do-for-darkroom, lightened to a negative of yourself - pale blue pajamas and thin long-fingered hands folded on the white sheet, all around you the lush blooms, the industrious Soviet summer.     Rehearsal Night   My mother is all smells and sounds of waiting, the click click click of distinctly confident heels in the dark hallway, the anticipated familiar mix of perfume and cigarette smoke when I reach for her hand at the crosswalk, the poised T-shape of them on the small stage as her partner lifts her up, and I am in the corner with pencils and a coloring book forgetting what I’ve been told, pressing down too hard on the paper.     After She Left for Spain   I woke to find a pomegranate on my doorstep.
Adam and Eve on the Upper East Side
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Two Poems
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The Difficult Ones
The Possibility of Being Who You Are
"Confess, my dear."
If it could swallow you whole, it would.
They were all such happy Buddhas.
Still Life
It was an offer of truce and I took it.
Riding Shotgun
Being a good driver is all in the timing.
Difficult Love
Or how my son found wisdom, without reading Freud or Greek mythology
My Big Fat Greek Car Repair Party
Profile: Issue 13
The Rescue
Fiction: Issue 18
The Widow’s Lovers
Fiction: Issue 19