We kind of hated Jackson and Sara. What could we do? They were our friends. We went out for dinner once every three months or so.
To some writers the adverb is a largely pointless outcropping of language; to them a sentence is a lean thoroughfare…
Shearing Season (and other poems)
When the fleshy clefts healed
in the lambs’ ears, finely edged
with fur, I knew it was time
and grabbed a sheep by the leg.