We write the stories of our lives between the bookends of birth and death They stay on the shelf

After 30 years together, Carol tells me late one evening in the manner of a quiet wife that I have yet to write a poem about her, something she

Fred’s not a hunter but Animus is a beast he’d hunt down and kill and mount on his wall if he had a clear shot

America has no caste system but America has castes. Like every other nation America has its rich and poor with everyone else sardined

When the dogwoods bloom pink and white blossoms create canopies of joy. Donal Mahoney

He’s not among the quick and not among the dead. He’s somewhere in between he tells anyone who stops his wheelchair in the halls

Praise for Him coming from us is like the bark of a terrier at the foot of his master

Something’s still bright when a widow dies and her son flies in gives her body to science has the movers

He’s a citizen who has a problem with people walking toward him walking behind him walking next to him

Faye gives Fred next door her sister’s number to call in case Faye dies. Faye’s 94 and feels okay. Her sister’s 90 and Fred’s

I started reading the paper early in grammar school to find the sports scores. It was fun for a child hoping to play

Linda’s an animal person who puts her money where her mouth is, owns a ranch outside the city and takes in kittens, puppies, birds that

Heaven’s Sake or maybe Hell No. Even if we weigh a ton our body’s not a problem

Thirty years later, Dad came back and we met for Ham and Yams at To… Pouring his tea, he told me he had to restore power once at a newspaper warehouse

The guillotine dropped between you and a friend over coffee and small talk. The first time it dropped it was someone who said