mother and son

“i’m hungry,” i’d say to mother. she’d say “have some bread and milk.” “i’m sick of bread and milk,” i knew next she would shrug her shoulders, “then you’re not very hungry.” she would go back to dusting the furniture. she learned quickly to ignored my groans. “i made your favorite goulash for supper tonight.”

it must be wednesday

the house is all mine tonight, unless you count baxter, max, deaf isis and blind gordon. i poke gordon to make sure he’s alive. i don’t count what’s crawling in the walls. i let patti smith sit in my favorite chair while i lay on the floor watching her lips drool poetry. i’ve always wanted