Free Verse
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The piece below recounts the actual events of a day at St. James Elementary School in Arlington Heights, IL. 1966, or so. I flunked a phonics test and Sister Eleanor is scowling like Satan: goose-stepping back and forth, spitting “God Hates You Brats.” She doesn’t know that God likes kids, even brats and kids who
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Spiked like the cherry punch at my senior prom, slower than Sunday afternoon in the Delta, and softer than a kitten’s sigh but with a kick like your Papaw’s shotgun — leaving me with the sweetest hangover that flat-out would not let go. That’s what my first kiss was like.
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When I visit my father’s grave, I leave a stone on it. We’re Jewish. That’s what we do. Just a nondescript piece of rock. Gray, generic and anonymous— aptly symbolizing our relationship.
Ergo, the Ogre 