More to the left, he says, then leans to watch
the dangling claw from a better angle
as I guide the stubby joystick, grease-slick
from unwashed hands—just two coin-fed alley kids
fishing for a way to pass the time. Behind the screen,
the glass-eyed, cheap stuffed animals, cotton-cored
is a group bike ride involving guys in tight pants and floppy hats with feathers, I tell my daughter. They
The child hums as he carries, too late, / his grandmother’s sugar-dusted lemon-glazed cake …
Everyone’s memory is subjective. If in three weeks we were both interviewed about what went on here tonight, we would
In this field of fireweed and wild oat
that leans for ten thousand mornings to the east,
I see the wind coming
from miles and miles away
like wakes at the back of an unseen boat.
If you wish to be wealthy, duck beneath
the topcoat of a well-dressed river
until you come up with a mossy boot
filled with shiners. Spend them wisely.