8 August Kenny!!!!

Kenny and I hang out in the neighbors’ dog pool with our arms slung over the rim like we’re reversing caddys, like we’ve got gum stuck in our wisdom teeth, like we’re rearing back for a Thursday palette drop. Once in time, we’d drag the pool a bit closer into our yard so we could sit and place bets on when Jimmy Carter, Queen Elizabeth and those neighbors’d just plain die already. Then one of them just plain did. The dog pool didn’t come out for a few summers and neither did the dog. A new dog came, and the widow left her keys in the front door so she could let herself out. Kenny’s allowance was earned letting himself in to release the shitzu, to comb matts, to squirt oatmeal in her eyes. 

It authenticates over the course of a few years. 

At a warehouse with some woodworking guy who owns a bike. 

Blonde winds this winter. I’d never survive those nipple piercings.

It authenticates over the course of a few years. 

At a warehouse with some woodworking guy who owns a bike.

I wish we still spoke as frequently, but then we sit down in front of checkers games and go slack jawed trying to keep up, not saying a thing to one another but nonverbal acknowledgment of respectively opted rooting sides; wherever one’s clan triumphs, a nonverbal grimace ensues, we’d have made friends plopped down at age three.

It authenticates over the course of a few years. 

At a warehouse with some woodworking guy who owns a bike. 

How far past since the water goblin fear dissipated? Has it yet?

There’s hot water and hot water only. I drink hot water. 

Listening to jazz makes me write faster but it also makes my heart beat too fast.

If I’d moved to Los Angeles when I said I would,  surely I would’ve passed away by now.

I tried Bossa for writing on the radio and took a moment of break to dance my fingers around.