Month

On a cold morning in January, in a year that most Fergus Fallsians had assumed lay only in the distant future, Mayor Mingalone sequestered himself in his sumptuous, mahogany-paneled office, where diligently he attempted to ignore the electronic sign blaring his city’s name through the window and instead to concentrate on the question at hand, which was whether or not to run for another four-year term. |||Fergus Falls

On the forgotten windowsill Glimpsing the heavens Through cloudy plastic Should only I bother To look up. We are saving pocket change For a new dishwasher Instead of repairing That old, broken-down thing. So for now I carry on dutifully With suds and towel At the sink. Once I danced And my heart beat proudly And I sang giddy tunes With my beloved in my arms As waves pounded the sandy beach In the moonlight. Shed no t

I met him at the book store in a long line at the checkout. He was talking about life and politics. I asked him a question that my mother had asked me, which she had heard on a quiz show, I think. “What was the first Beatles song,” I asked, “without the words I, me, mine, or you or your, or we or our, in the lyrics?” He thought for a moment, and then replied, “Eleanor Rigby,” which

During the cold winters we burn a lot of wood in the fireplace. One of my duties is to scoop the ashes and dump them into a hole in the far corner of the back yard. The other night I think of using the ashes to sculpt figurines, which even at the time I recognize to be a truly awful idea. Nevertheless I don old clothes and plastic gloves and my wife convinces me to wear a paper facemask, the kind used by painters to

I was standing in the park under that tree. I can tell you the park—it was Sportsman’s Park in St. Louis, home of the Cardinals. And that tree was not a real tree—it was a billboard for the Missouri Federal Savings and Loan. The billboard was in the shape of a tree—they called it the Money Tree— and it hung just out of the outfielder’s reach over the center field wall. If a batted ball hit the Money Tree

(This post appeared originally on RIKLBLOG, maintained by the author. Check it out!  –JB) I was young once.  Not really, really young, like “a baby” or “a toddler.”  People tell me that I must have been, and I suppose there’s some merit to their theory, since I observe such creatures on the hoof.  But this is my blog, and if I don’t remember or have evidence of it then itR

The New York Yankees have won 74 of their first 99 games. By October, they could have the greatest record in the history of major league baseball. “Guess what,” said Timmy, “I got an A on my math test. That makes 12 A’s in a row!” “That’s wonderful, Timmy,” said Mrs. Anderson. “I’m so proud of you.” As the first of the two suns was setting over Mondas, the outlaw planet, Colonel Quay’s men happily pitched their tents

The hangover was from either liquor or depression. Probably both. They came as a pair, the L and the D, like a vaudeville act. They came especially during an Iowa winter, and especially during that horrible winter through which Marlene was suffering. The baby was six months dead and buried. Gary had driven off in the sedan with no signs of returning. Money was tight and getting tighter. Marlene had canceled the cable