French Open’s in May.
Jack has his black socks
on the court in red clay.
The twins are running busy.
Mr. Snuggles is at teatime
on the patio with Christy,
and Junior . . . Lord heavens—
Where is Junior?
That boy always goes missing!
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The cool, steady drip atop her crown renews hope of seeing her daughter.
Once, wet hair, matted and tangled, led to these chains.
Now she prays for it. One crack, the icicle will fall, piercing her skull, proving her sorcery.
I normally don’t reward bad behavior, but Bryan was a wolverine tonight, shredding my father-in-law’s prejudice tongue with the steel blade of his words in defense of his new friend, Ahmed.
“Kiss my ass, Grandpa!”
We took him to Ben and Jerry’s.
Image by © Royalty-Free/Corbis
“I’d love a frozen banana dipped in chocolate and sprinkled with salt,” she tells him as she licks peanut butter from the spoon and drops it into the jar between her thighs. “Not too sweet. I can’t take anymore midnight penalty kicks.”
She’s staring, waiting for an answer.
I rise from my desk. “Excuse me. Little girl’s room.”
I sit on the cool porcelain, fold my arms on thighs, rest head in arms.
My solution whenever idiots try to make me do their jobs.
I came home to a man curled atop the roof of his car, my Rottweiler scratching at the windows.
“Duke!” He trotted to me, tongue hanging, tail wagging.
“How’d you?” I looked up to my husband’s wide grin behind the screen door.
“I don’t deserve this.”
She stabbed her thumb ripping out her nametag, pulled apart the loose Velcro, slammed her hat onto the counter, and shook out her matted hair.
“You think you can live off minimum wage? Make your own fucking burger!”
I heard her screams in my sleep, traced the shadow on the box spring. We lay center of the mattress, keeping our feet from the edge, afraid the jagged black fingernail under her bed would grow a hand at the witching hour.
“I was only in the store for a minute! Just a minute! We needed bread for grilled cheese.”
“I understand your husband filed for custody of your two daughters last month. That must’ve made you angry.”
“Maybe I should call a lawyer.”