Schroeder Tells All
What Lucy used to be, I now am. A chronic complainer. She would call every Monday morning, as soon as her little brats left for school. There were times I would set the phone down and fold an entire load of whites. Pick the phone back up and she’d still be yammering. One time I played through the entire Moonlight Sonata. Twice. Or once, I ran over to Krogers, we were out of milk. Still there. Bitching about Linus, her brats, the weather. You name it. Just like I’m bitching about her now.
What Lucy used to be, I now am. I swore I wouldn’t, even made a vow that I wouldn’t turn into one. And the worst thing about it is that Lucy is the only one that doesn’t know. And how could she? It’s her husband.
You Can Not Insulate Your Bones with Animal Clones
If I run far enough away from you, I will find you.
And I need you to be part of it.
Then the geese were honking letting us know they were ready to be let out of the atmosphere.
Jesse James’s Black Boots
“Everybody knows the story about me and Jesse James,” says my grandfather. “We were in love with the same pair of black cowboy boots in the window of the same shoe store. The store, unfortunately, was always closed. There’d be a sign: DEATH IN THE FAMILY or BACK AFTER LUNCH, but no matter how long I waited, no one would come to open. Once I caught Jesse James there shamelessly admiring the boots. We glared at each other before going our separate ways, never to meet again.”