Molly Goatwax

Squeak by

A lean month closes without disaster.

Saturday Afternoon

Yesterday at the grocery store I saw a woman weeping quietly at the pharmacy counter. The druggist looked somber after she went away.

End Days

Bread ends, cheese ends, deli ends. It's the end of the month, I hope we fare better with the next one.

Sunday in the afternoon

I was driving west on Woodbourne Avenue when I saw a middle aged guy nodding and shuffling down the sidewalk with his trousers around his ankles. Black lace beckoned from beneath his button-down shirt. I pulled into the parking lot of the dollar store next to three cop cars. There were three cops. The lady cop's magenta hair was pulled into a neat bun. I pointed at the guy shuffling down the street and told them there was a guy walking around without his pants on. They were all over him. But he was not breaking the law. So off he shuffled free, and easy.

Flight Pattern

The Gleaner

Every Wednesday morning I look out the rear window to see a tidy old man picking the aluminum cans out of my recycling bin and put them in his little car.

More dishes

Pressed glass cups came packed in oatmeal drums. Long ago.

Dishing

A thousand variations of beans and rice.

Just another day

I didn't notice the squid rings in the freezer until the bag fell out and landed on the floor.

Moving along

I am again on a train, feeling as though I might be a character in a novel.