October Vignette

There I was in the lower lounge of ACT’s elegant Geary Theater, surrounded by well-dressed San Franciscans, sipping cocktails and nibbling on sweets, waiting for the curtain on a new David Mamet play. At one little round table a woman sat with a cool flute of champagne, her hair coiffed up with a sleek barrette, her petite feet clad in soft leather high heels, crossed at the ankle, her mid-length black skirt clinging gracefully to her lap. She was about 60, slim and small. She was intent on her hand, occasionally stroking the face of her iPhone, studying its portents. As I watched, her face broke into a smile and she lifted her right arm high above her head, hand in a fist. “Yes!” she cried, still gazing into her palm. The Yankees had scored.

Request Inner Pull (a very short story)

Request a coffee, feel an inner pull to ask for a whiskey. Carlos told me that somehow the payments came out odd. He didn’t understand where the money went. Alan had been doing the books for about a year. I knew it was him immediately---almost like recognizing the smell of bacon when it’s sizzling on the griddle. The SOB was embezzling to buy drugs, cocaine. He didn’t offer us a single line. Just took the damn money. I drained the remaining drop of coffee in my cup. It was thin pleasure. I won’t lie. I signaled to the bartender to let the booze flow. The barroom door swung open and I recognized Alan. Careful. C a r e f u l .

Two Poems

1.
Green square, spring again
Grass, mud like choc mints
Arbor mist in the dawn
(grey) (pink) (red)
Beer cans (6) tossed, dead

2.
So many prescriptions
The nitroglycerin is mine
Patches deliver
.4 hgl per hour
Toothpaste seems so ordinary
Toilet paper, too
The tide washes everything out
Woolite, goodnight