Kids or no kids — he has already made up his mind in his elusive wisdom. He’s not fond of them. They come as the spring storms in hurry, and leave destruction behind. They have brains that work just the opposite of his. They have racing minds that are normally fifty years apart from Alex’s; but the feelings come with the territory, if they should be asked. They feed on chaos. Alex has a mind that flourishes only in silence
“Alex frets kids,” says his new girlfriend of six months...
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A piece of antique furniture/a bureau was standing in the front court yard of the house up the street in the reverse direction from the place where I and my wife live. At first, it had all the drawers in their hiding places, nicely pushed back just the right distance to show their dulled brass handles – for anyone who was curious enough to look at it. It was resting on the rough surface made of some irregular slates deepen into a fresh cement, about fifty years ago when Brooklyn was a little...
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She lived up the block. I lived down the block. We both lived on the Unknown Street of the well-known city, but – what it seemed – far away from the Earth, we unknowingly thought. Supposedly, she knew me, but I did not know her. Supposedly, she paid attention, I did not.
One day she rang my door bell and asked me could she remind me of something? She said that in a plastic manner of a person with the artificial politeness. She didn’t want to be polite, but acted it out, anyway.
I said...
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My wife speaks in a hushed voice. I’m of a higher standard – a loud one! She cannot stand anybody’s loud voice. In the presence of loud speakers, her hands, on their own, travel where her ears are. She cups them there, and holds her head pretending to have a headache.
I cannot stand her low voice. She asks me to lower my voice. I ask her to raise hers. She fails, most of the time, to follow my suggestion of speaking up.
I forget to lower my voice because of the plain fact that I...
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As in a confession – the whole day on my knees
not talking to the priest, but cutting the lumber for
the basement ceiling –
making a wooden bed/frame for the sheets of the sheetrock
which will hang in the air as an outstretched white
blanket in the pool of the fluorescent flickering lights,
becoming the long and wide, perfectly flat, basement ceiling;
and staying there, looking down from this moment on to, maybe,
one hundred years away?
My 2-year old grandson exchanges his toy-saw
for my...
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