Park View Drive rests at an early hour,

without tell-tale traffic

and before the sun better reveals

more recent influences.

Its stick built homes, in an older style,

date between the great wars

and upon brief observation

offer the appearance of days gone by.

Any original owners have long since departed.

The cedar roofs are also gone,

as are their more modern replacements

and even the replacements of those as well.

Near one end of the avenue

a figure steps from a clapboard colonial

and into the half-lit calm

of an emergent morning.

Though once considered a newcomer,

the Professor, as he is called,

and his equally credentialed  spouse

have been in residence for many years.

In the past it was his practice

to enjoy long, vigorous walks

out through the neighborhood,

up the steep climb to the Reservoir, and around.

These days, he does not get far,

shuffling but a few doors from his own

before slowly coming about

and retracing his tentative steps.

The professor is a genial fellow,

viewed as neighborly and polite,

but in his current condition

he walks early and sometimes unnoticed,

thus avoiding inquiries as to his health

as he ponders his weakened state,

his hapless knees, eroding joints

and feet unwilling to convey their exact location



Falling asleep.


lethal as any fire. burning

quietly to smolder

and the flashpoint

which happens when, feeling safe,

you open something up. then

explosions. kids

screaming somewhere. people outside. property

gone. handfuls of ash

clasped afterwards

in a display of some sort

of significance. collapsed up lungs

from falling asleep

too relaxed with a cigarette.

or lighting a candle, even. they’re deadly,

too. electric wires – a slight sign

of comfort.

a spark

which lights fires

and kills her

and kills you

and kills you

and goes out.

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