The dog chews the back of the cat’s neck and when she does, it’s like the cat is caught in some embarrassed state of sexual arousal. The chicken coop needs to be extended so I can park my tractor under… Read More ›
humor
Dead skin diary
I remembered the kitchen sink was clogged, and knew I couldn’t sleep in, I had to fix it. I don’t know anything about plumbing and was lucky to even find a wrench. I got it apart and emptied the dirty… Read More ›
The sports court
When we bought this house, it came with a sports court. That’s pretty unlikely, that we’d own a sports court. First, the bombast to own property that’s big enough for one. Then, the idea that I’d be out there in… Read More ›
The record you made after you should have stopped making records
Driving across Maryland in the middle of the night, from a state campground back to our flat in Ocean City. The end of the summer, college graduation, months spent standing around with lagers and our guts hanging out, passing pipes,… Read More ›
Going Back to Hell (End)
Dora the server wears a black vest, bow-tie, thick eye-liner, doesn’t focus right with the one eye: she looks behind me, somewhere. She says how did you know I’m Greek, and I say because your name tag says THEODORA. I… Read More ›
Going Back to Hell (4)
Sunday morning in Las Vegas, day four of seven. The only people out this early are the runners and the homeless, waking up on the sidewalk as the sun cuts through the gaps between the hotels. Friday night: a midget… Read More ›
Going Back to Hell (3)
Poets have no business in Las Vegas unless they’re here to write horror stories, or die a drunken, messy death. I don’t gamble, don’t like musicals, don’t like paying a lot for dinner, and I’m married. So I’m holing up… Read More ›
Going Back to Hell (2)
The plane pivots on its wheels, on the runway, like a cannon butt pointing south. At once we are in the air, lifted, and the sun makes a shadow of our plane on the clouds, a cartoon-plane, and the sun… Read More ›
Going Back to Hell (1)
The sales guy wears his sunglasses on the back of his head when he’s not wearing them on his face. He’s got product in his hair, tanned year-round, upper 40s, looks better than me. Doesn’t work as hard. He rides… Read More ›
The Hyphen
Getting pissed off about punctuation feels petty; it’s often something more. I’m having a brochure produced for a real estate convention in Las Vegas, and we’ve gone back and forth with about 10 approval cycles in the past four weeks…. Read More ›
Bill Pearse 