Today My Father Should Be at The Score
marking out the route,
pulling out road signs from the back of the car—
road bowling in progress—
I’d Drive Anywhere with You
We eat dinner in the car. I lock the doors
and then we’re in the real world
of the two of us, inchoate in the half-dark
Rhode Island
That summer in Misquamicut, when boys
as ripe as roadside corn shot pool in darkened
eighteen-over bars
Constancy
My grandfather knew how to share
iron and leather with a horse
sweat turning the earth, the fertile smell
the plodding, the slow prayer.
Keith Olbermann Calls Angel Reese an Idiot …
And again. I want him to wake up
in a cold sweat with her name
on his tongue. Choke
on each micro-French tipped finger.