We met in the principal’s office, the first day of school. There had been a mix-up; he, DeVon Miles, a fourth grader, had been assigned to a third-grade class. I, Devin Myles, belonged in third but had been sent to fourth.
Prologue from Kin
I am trying to sneak two ounces of primo marijuana that I have carried all the way from Evansville, Indiana, to Seco, Kentucky, past the producer of the CBS Evening News and into the double-wide trailer where my father anxiously waits for it.
On Troy Hill above Pittsburgh (and other poems)
….the crossed branches—last summer’s skeleton—
scrape for entry, for permission, at the stained windows.