Mother’s Teeth; Shopping List

In the prairie across from My mother’s apartment, We find, in the moonlight, Bones, laying humble On the black ground, More ash than dirt, From the controlled burn The firemen had to set.

The Giant of Abilene, Texas

The house, a simple box nailed to a concrete slab on the flat surface of West Texas, had fallen into disrepair in the years since he was a boy. A window on the side was punched out and the jagged center was patched with cardboard; the masking tape had released its hold long ago. The window had once been the window to his bedroom. He got out of his rented red Ford and went to look. The houses on the left and right were close; the rock fights had been in earnest. The cheap siding, a dirty white vinyl, was cracked in places, probably from the hailstorms that came every summer. There were broken children’s toys in the yard. No one was home.


Hadrian attempts to silence me, but I continue. “You are a Greek trapped in the body of a Roman, in a time not meant for you."

A Compliment’s a Compliment

Even in late 90s Kent, gay nightclubs were secreted away as if shameful. There was no Manchester canal street where everyone was allowed to be out and proud. This nightclub was set back in some woods. Hidden from the road, you had to know it was there. Built like a large cabin, only its pink neon sign gave it away. ‘Flamingos’ a strange choice I reflected given its very English setting.

A Prelude to: Going Back to the Sources

Film noir source literature can be brutal. It can be ugly. It can be racist and reflect the common prejudices and phobias of the day. But you should be kept informed about what viciousness might lie in the foundations of your beloved classics.