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We were at the party With your friends from work, Nice enough people, But boring, As we agree. Someone said, “Nice shirt, Bill.” You replied, “Yeah, I got it Last month when I was in Miami.” When you said this, you avoided eye contact with me Or at least you did not look at me, maybe by accident, But I think on purpose. Of course, I was with you On the trip in question. So you might have said

I loved you before I was born And I will love you after I am gone. In between, we have our duties and responsibilities And joys and sorrows, and all the triumphs and trophies To celebrate for ourselves, and kith and kin. I gaze at the stars. They are very beautiful. So I think of you. The truth is that the memories Are like old handbills and popcorn sleeves Pressed in the clown’s scrapbook, Waiting for nothing

Originally published August 24, 2013. In my mind I have struck up friendships, or at least become temporary pals, with various sports celebrities, particularly those from my Minnesota childhood and young-adulthood. I imagine that I find common ground with amiable sluggers like Harmon Killebrew, Tony Oliva, and Kirby Puckett, as well as slick football dudes like Fran Tarkenton and Ahmad Rashad, and even the oh-so-cere

Norman had been on me for months to let a gun in the house, and I kept saying no. Then we scored some dollars with a lottery ticket. Not the jackpot, mind you, but real money, enough to grant a wish or two. I wanted a raised deck outside the kitchen, for barbecues and parties and outdoor living, like they show in the magazines. Norman continued going on about the gun. So I gave in, and we got both. Norman insisted th

His skin glowed the color of mocha cappuccino, his muscles tapered into drawn bows and steely arrows, and his long, flowing locks took flight and landed in rhythmic accompaniment to his pounding legs and buttocks. “Fergus Falls,” he whispered. The woman, a strawberry blonde, writhed somewhere underneath him. She was visible only in splotches of feet, hair, and hands, the latter clasped against the middle

My grandfather graduated from Purdue in 1921 and worked his entire life as an engineer for the Indiana Bell Telephone Company. That’s how we came to have an antique box telephone in our basement. The telephone was a rectangle of polished oak, about twice the size of a shoebox.Two round bell-­eyes stared from the top of the rectangle. The side-­mounted crank fired up the electricity that connected this telephone to th

I have the lab results, Mrs. Nussbaum, and the news is mixed. As we thought, your levels of thyroid hormone are a little low. We could supplement, but I recommend we watch carefully for now. I am more concerned about your cholesterol. It really is too high. Aarrgh! Me beauty! I’ve seen me years in ships at sea and none be as fair as yer lovely self. Avast, Dolores, come sail with me and me hearties! I swear, if any m

There you are, Teri Garr A dancer in a leotard, Keep the time, step on target, Frug with Elvis and Ann-Margret. Breathe the air, lift leg to bar. Fame so near, and yet so far. There you be, Teri G. With Sonny and Cher, on TV. Joe Namath at the laundromat. Freddie Prinze in a silly hat. Say your lines then step aside. Buy the ticket, take the ride. Acting lessons, anyone? Life is good, and life is fun. Who’s kis

  Jerry Herald had been the president of the company, but when our paths crossed his title was Vice President of Internal Corporate Communications and Blah Blah etc. etc. None of us knew exactly what Jerry Herald did all day, although he did seem to do a lot of it. He was always in the building, looking dapper in a three-piece business suit of a kind that no one else wore even in the 1990s. Rumor had it that Jer