“Let’s go back to Fenway Park,” he said. “Let’s go to a game. It’ll be just a boys’ trip. You, me, some of your pals. I hope your mother would be okay with that. I’m sure I could talk her into it.”
Milburn Middle (and other poems)
Into the party favor of my face
Jenny King kept on blowing
hot air because she thought
it was funny. It wasn’t––
You’re Supposed To Be Where You Are
I’m no savior—hell, I’ve been spelling it wrong my entire life—but sometimes I get a feeling about people who need extra help when it comes to subsisting, plus understanding the different paths they might consider.