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I’d make a tub of mud to keep live crabs. I’d refill it daily.

When an old man marries a young piece of flesh, she is the ruler.

He is too young even to be drinking let alone educating us.

She unhooks the sapphire pendant from its stand. Slips it into her pocket.

You could take your pick from an array of rebellions to consider.

Fearing for them, I clustered them together, then cut them off.

She wants something red and shiny that always works.

It’s way past 10 p.m. and we have no idea where our child is.

Dance with you? I said after a moment. That’s your dare?

He was reading Our Town. She studied the departure board.

Sometimes one does wade into it or is ambushed as by a incensed fog.

Later in the pale of dawn your hair brushed across my forearm.

“Jesus Christ,” Dad said, after the counselor spelled it out for him.

Put out to pasture, flop down into clover, alternate to the glue factory.

Joshua was well versed in things to which I was not yet privy, like sex.

Is there some one way a guy should be on his wedding day, dickwad?

Loss. That word echoed in my ears as my eyes ranged around the garden.

Our neighbors the Bells are watching, watching us when we play outside.

The rifle slams into my shoulder. Smoke pummels the air.

Eating a raw oyster is like exchanging a soul kiss with the sea.

It was here—over the highway—where my mother got confused.

The beer and the kissing and the lateness of the hour had got to me.

Doisneau might have eyed and shot us for how brazenly we kissed.

I don’t remember being born, only the great dog whose fur I clung to.

This kind of childhood stuck with a person, twisted things up.

You must not be afraid of what waits after death, my past self says.

We were lying on the grass, sharing a joint. The sun was radiant.

She was wanting to be noticed as a person not wanting to be noticed.

A branch breaks and the body lands the wrong way. Snapping is easy.

His name is Lloyd. He lives on Percival. He’s super creepy.