by James Tate
A day which started off rather dismally
turns a sharp right and there up ahead
is the prospect of something sweet with
an officer of the law, who is now following you.
by George Looney
He believes storms hide more than stars
and wants to visit ponds in the mountains where fish,
desperate, blur the water with their bodies and the dust
they kick up. From overhead, they’re maps of the state
where his wife’s forgetting him.
by Terry Bain
She slips her hand into one of her husband’s pants pockets and retrieves two quarters, a nickel, and a half-stick of gum; from the other pocket she pulls three balloons—one white, one yellow, and one blue—a folded and unused handkerchief, and his wedding ring, a slim gold band without markings or gems.
by Erin McGraw
For about nine months in the late 1980s, when I was in my early thirties and a graduate student, I shared a house with a stockbroker named Louise. She did not ordinarily take in roomers, but the market’s collapse had forced several unpleasant new realities upon her. Her few remaining investors telephoned at home around the clock, talking bankruptcy, talking suicide.
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