Wednesday the banks shuttered, the shop shelves went majestically bare. Not that it mattered. We were out of work, our currency not worth its paper.
Contributors
Nicola Vulpe
AT THE END OF THE YARD Because after much meandering I’ve determined the world is that new bicycle, its chrome menace: Tour de France, Giro d’Italia, that hill. And because we laid out the table in the garden, […]
POEM OF THE UNFINISHED SANDWICH Tomato slice, white baladi cheese, rye, a bite taken from one end, crumbs. An ant trudges her burden across the blue countertop. Ah, if only you’d listened! Ah, yes, if only […]
