The Geo limped into
a weather-chewed parking
lot. I escaped the front
seat. Aired out in blistering heat.
Here we are. Home sweet home.
What’s mine is yours.
I’d made an awful mistake.
Daddy wasn’t the Prince of
Albuquerque. He was the King of Cliché.
You Call This a Castle?
Not My Type
No shirt
hot bod.
His, that is.
So why did
/break out in
a sweat?
No shoes
barefoot,
bare chest, with
a bare, baby face
to make the
angels sing.
Nothing
but ragged
cut-offs,
hugging a
tawny six pack,
and a smile.