Through the yellow roses on the coffee table I peer at the ball game, tired of Whitman, tired of wanting to be great. “Holy cow,” roars the announcer, “walk him walk him,” Dad hollers, my …
August 14, 2013
Posted August 13, 2013
Through the yellow roses on the coffee table I peer at the ball game, tired of Whitman, tired of wanting to be great. “Holy cow,” roars the announcer, “walk him walk him,” Dad hollers, my …