“…flavored of tin from the lip of the cup of a dented thermos passed between us—”
Apple Slices
—eaten rightoff the jackknife in
moons, half moons,
quarter moons and
crescents—
still
summon common
summer afternoons
I spent as my dad’s
jobsite grunt
“…flavored of tin from the lip of the cup of a dented thermos passed between us—”
Apple Slices
—eaten rightoff the jackknife in
moons, half moons,
quarter moons and
crescents—
still
summon common
summer afternoons
I spent as my dad’s
jobsite grunt