Heavy rain kept the dinosaurs sleeping for a few days, and I enjoyed the relative quiet of that constant rainy drumroll on the roof and the occasional chirping of the security guard's phone as I removed all the doors inside my house one by one: my bedroom door, and the bathroom door, the pantry, and the closets. I took off the knobs and stacked the doors in the living room like a big wooden lasagna.
I had no idea how I'd get the doors to Bob, but I assumed if NASA could figure out how to put a man on the moon, a poet could figure out how to get a few doors over a fence, up a hill, and down the road a-ways. Maybe I'd ask the mail carrier to ask some of those political candidates to help me, seeing's how "helping the little guy" was what they were all about.
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The Myth of Wile E
HumorHighest Ranking: #1 in Humor [FEATURED, SEPT-OCT] An idealistic poet refuses to budge from the last parcel of land a developer needs to acquire in order to build a shopping mall. (Literary satire with pop culture references and environmental theme...
