Choose
Life
The sign
inside Finnigan’s
said: MIND
YOUR CHILDREN.
Hers were
running wild
down aisles
between the card
displays
yelling,
"You're it, you're it."
"No I'm not.”
“You are.
You are."
while she
considered Father's Day
messages by
Hallmark.
The youngest
clinging to her filthy,
CHOOSE LIFE
t‑shirt.
"Daddy's
gonna really love this special
card, huh,
Ma?"
"He will if
he survives the dinner
we left
him."
"What was
that, Ma?"
"Nothing. Come on, you son's of a bitches,
it's time to
motor," she yells,
"Form a line
like right now or there's
gonna be some sore butts tonight.
And I don't
want to have to say it twice."
Judging by
the look in the kid’s eyes,
and how they
formed a line, she never
had to say
anything twice.
Facts of Life on the Route 55 Bus
It was old
home week
in the back
of the bus.
Her friend
felt she looked
like she was
putting on
a lot of
weight.
“It started
a couple of months ago.
This guy I
know, like invited up
this friend
of his, and we doubled.
Had us a few
drinks and
a couple of
laughs and pretty soon
he's coming
up weekends
and we're
hanging out pretty
regular,
until I notice I'm getting
real fat all
of a sudden.
Scary, isn't
it?"
"What
happened to the guy?"
"Beats
me. All of a
sudden
I don't hear
nothing from him
and they
tell me his phone's
disconnected.
I tell you
this whole business is
a pain in
the ass. I'm so damned
uncomfortable and pretty soon
none of my clothes are going
to fit
unless something happens."
"Don't you
know what this is all about?"
Her friend
asks,
"Don't you
know what's going on?"
"I'd like to
know what happened to
Mr. Big
City. He was coming on all
lovey dovey
and now this.
Owes me a
couple of yards
and an
explanation. I expect
I'll hear
from him again soon as
he gets good
and lonely.
God, I can’t
stand myself.
I feel like
a freak.
This
happened once before
to me. I can't wait 'til it’s
over."
The
Stranger
Maybe the
street lights were
bothering
his eyes or there was
some kind of
strange lunar eclipse
the rest of
the world wasn't aware of.
There had to
be some explanation
for a guy
wandering around Albany
in the dead
of the night wearing aviator
style sun
glasses asking,
"What's your
cheapest beer?"
with a
peculiar smile that suggested
he was on a
budget tour from Alpha Centuri.
Stood there
sipping Matt's Premium Beer,
resplendent
in an interesting clash of
soiled
polyesters, the frayed edges of
his t‑shirt
hanging out at the waist,
yellow
balled paper napkins stuffed
in the
hollows of his raincoat sleeves.
"Nice hat." I commented.
It was a
canvas rain job, brand new and it
might have
fit him when he changed body
types and
became The Magnificent Hulk.
"Matt's." He
said, sliding the empty beer glass
across the
bar with his exact change.
At least, he
was having a good time,
smiling up a
storm watching a cable movie
that came in
over budget at two thousand
dollars,
carrying on a running conversation
with
himself, pausing to smile at the punch
lines, idly
spinning the glass ashtray
on the wood,
turning abruptly:
"Do you take
checks?" he asks the back
bar
mirrors.
No one
answers.
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