Confessions

Sunday mornings our parents would regroup. They’d all go out for a trek, or anything to get a day out of our unbearably boring town. My parents, my best friend’s parents, and this kid’s father. And his aunt. I remember the day his father died. I went to the funeral, more as a formality than…

Ad Hominem

Ad Hominem People talk, of gardens and meadows But I was just a desert; lonely, mellow Gardens are used to frequent visitors, Loved ones, frolicking laughter And when I speak of the muck and sweat That comes with the heat; drained, wet Leaving no water for your blood, you dry out Toiling, dragging your feet…