David Kirby: That Happened Sometimes
Frank’s grandmother
and great-grandmother would cook pounds
and pounds of pasta al pomodoro every week
and bring it to the Italian prisoners of war
at Camp Belle Mead, New Jersey.
David Kirby: My Sunday
My Sunday is doing great
it’s driving along at 35 mph with its sleeves rolled up
and one arm out the window
dog with its head out the window barking at nothing
David Kirby: My Unhealthy Relationship with Life as We Know It
I’m fit to be tied, life. I’ve had it up to here. If you consisted of nothing but clichés, catchphrases, adages, old saws, mottos, slogans, and apothegms, we wouldn’t have … Continue reading
David Kirby: Golden Gate by Clarence Major (Review)
A new world is rising, and for the most part these stories read like field reports about earthlings to an alien race.
David Kirby: The Questions That Matter Most by Jane Smiley (review)
The point [Smiley] misses is that the best writing often contains an element of the weird, the bizarre, the outlandish, the alienating. Call it wildness, if you will…
David Kirby: More Than This
you three must be thirsty,
come in and get a drink, and the cowboy says okay,
but what is this place, and the guy says it’s heaven
David Kirby: My Girlfriend Killed James Brown
“Yeah, I got bumped up to first class, and when I saw who
my seatmate was, I went back to economy and told my girlfriend,
and even though she had the flu, we switch places, and three
weeks later, James Brown is dead.”
David Kirby: Taking it home to Jerome
Everything else was to come, everything about love:
the sadness of it, knowing it can’t last, that all lives must end,
all hearts are broken.
David Kirby: Broken Promises
I have met them in dark alleys, limping and one-armed;
I have seen them playing cards under a single light-bulb
and tried to join in, but they refused me rudely
David Kirby: The Little Sisters of the Sacred Heart
I’m wondering if, as I walk by later when the shadows are long,
will their white faces be like stars against their black habits
