In a storefront laundry on North Clark Street brown draperies release this quiet man who has my shirts.
It’s outpatient surgery and she’s running late trying to catch a spider in the kitchen sink. Wants to carry it outside
My wife’s upset because I won’t answer the phone in the middle of the night even though the phone’s on my side of the bed.
On their honeymoon he asked her not to sit down. Might bruise the peaches. Donal Mahoney
In the summer of 1956, any Saturday at midnight when the moon was full and the stars were bright, you would see Grandma Groth
Deep in the city where the poor wait for the Second Coming suicide is uncommon. No one leaps off skyscrapers
As the snow swirls around them, an old man in a wheelchair uses sign language to tell another old man standing at the bus stop, “Friend,
The haberdasher has that season of the year he rids his racks, his bins of oddments. I have no season of the year
Tim Murnane was born to parents who lived in a small brick bungalow in a lower-middle class neighborhood in Chicago. His father worked as an electrician for Commonwealth Edison Company ...
Three are known by name, Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael, but there are a zillion angels, pure spirits who have no wings like those we draw on Cherubim,
There’s always something. Like the growth you found under your arm showering this morning but you decided to go
“Damn the vernal equinox! Full speed ahead!” is all that Cootie Murphy would ever say when he sat on the last stool at the end of the bar in The Stag & Doe Inn. He wouldn’t say it very ...
Like that broad in an apricot bra hanging over the sill of her tenement window, the sun is over me now, its nectar laughing and falling.
I turn on the news to see who won the game last night but first the scores from hot spots in the city. Two people are killed
Things are quiet here, a friend wr… in the first email of his long lif… Most mornings I drive to Gillson… sit and read beside the Lake. The waves are a symphony.