Cars fill up the driveway and the street,
and overflow into the American Legion
parking lot up the block.
Family, friends, those who have become both.
4th of July graduation party. Last bash, last time
we are all together.
Dusk fades to night.
We climb onto the garage roof –
a perfect view.
The sky lights up
burst : whistle : crackle
whistle : burst : crackle : whistle
black power and chemistry
trickling into darkness.
The neighbors post fireworks, fireworks
on all four sides of us;
leaving a smoky sky
as we begin to jump
Things I Want Back Now That You’ve Left Me
Couples Like Us
There, we are wordless, there
Hand to hand
If a Tree Were to Fall
Isabel Brome Gaddis
Prisoner of War
POST-APOCALYPTIC YOGA, ALL LEVELS
When I Was an EMT, We Never Got in Any Trouble if a Patient Died, But if You Scratched the Side of the Ambulance They Would Fire You
Sometimes When My Wife Comes Home She Doesn't Kiss Me
This Poem is about a Small Town in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan and a College I Hated in Massachusetts
Leather and Velvet