Miranda: What happened?
Mrs. Doubtfire: He was quite fond of the drink.
Miranda: Ah…
Mrs. Doubtfire: ‘Twas the drink that killed him.
Miranda: How awful – he was an alcoholic?
Mrs. Doubtfire: No, he was hit by a Guinness truck…so it was quite literally the drink that killed him.
white daisies and morning glories as big as plates pushing through the floor boards of the weathered porch at my parents’ house
1.1
each time i ask
are we really going on with it?
this time
yes
we can’t go through it like that though
that’s going about it
all the wrong way
a carlight glimmers in the mush
reflection of a windmill
spinning very fast
in non-traditional shape of modern building’s window
how can the sun set so fast?
it must be heavy
in the sky
you come to me
your breath smelling of cheese
smoked gouda and cheddar
say you need a hug