In Conversation

Los Techadores June 12, 2025 There is a roofing crew above the street where my morning starts and they are blasting Mexican radio. Ranchero accordions chased by an excitable spanish-speaking DJ and it makes me so happy to hear it.  Because the Hispanic kids aren’t playing in the yards anymore and their abuelas don’t come …

To the Silence That Raised Me You taught me how to hear the hum behind the nothing— the way a faucet drips in a house no one lives in. The static between radio stations. The breath before the apology that never came. You tucked me in with unanswered questions, stitched bedtime stories from the lint …

Slave Labor We’re into the second day of chrome shop training with Fernando, and I’m still not entirely sure he understands a fucking word I’m saying. I continue speaking what passes for English in Alabama accompanied by frenetic hand gestures, pantomime that becomes increasingly agitated with his every expression of surprise and disbelieving shake of …

I’d Rather Be an Elephant There will be a few good moments, but mostly it will get worse. Cars and loved ones dying. Yesterday after 2 years of dental work to get perfect teeth for a 68 year old “rode hard and put up wet catfish”, they started doing a root canal, which ended up …

Land of the Free, Home of the Tropical McMansion I was born and raised in MIA 305 Dade County City of Kendall Home of the peacock & The mango The conservative Cuban, The orthodox greek The jewish private school The WASP barbecue The midwestern snow bunny Turned resident avocado expert The white Puertorriqueño Where you …

The Raging Goddess of Limbo Brigitte went into the house and came back out with our blanket and her favorite flashlight. My Bridge collected flashlights. She had a brown paper grocery bag full of flashlights. This one was red and chrome with a decal of a spaceman with the lettering “Captain Ray-O Vac.” Night had …

bruise a nation of ghosts, and they all wish you dead and sooner or later it’s gonna happen can’t be 1994 forever, okay? can’t waste yr whole life being pissed at yr father because what was he actually guilty of? had you pegged for all the things you weren’t not a poet, not a suicide, …

Land of Nod in the Washington Tavern Having him around, while otherwise alone in the bar, three hours past midnight, was like living my own Zendeath poem. Any minute I expected him to punch in his favorite Golden Oldies on the retro juke for mood music: “All Those People Who Died” by Jim Carroll, Talking …

My Own I don’t like being seen digging in to the ground. I don’t like being spied on while cutting things down into smaller pieces of me. I do most of my work inside my own mind. My own space with windows shut, doors locked. Instead of writing a book review, I write another review …

Every Idiot is Somebody’s Son When my son loses his job as he invariably must, he won’t admit it right away, but I always know. He gets a squirrelly look in his eyes. I’ve no better way to describe it. His eyes get squirrelly. Now, I’ve been told squirrels can be stupidly industrious. I don’t …