Aaron Wallace

Watching Grant paint in twenty-thirteen, and he was asking why food must by limited by cutlery and dishware. I’ve had the answer since the day I ate a bottle of Tylenol. My father bought me the econo-size out of love, and I’ve never repaid him. How much forgiveness can ten dollars buy? I am restive

Wilfred, I wish I could share this New England gin with you.         Tonic, lime, ice, and a sprig of rosemary here on the Florida coast where I wouldn’t ask about your writing. I’ve heard many great poets read you. I know your poems well enough,       but those greats always remind the class that

America’s current obsession with veterans and supporting them has seeped into our daily routines since the initial invasion of Afghanistan almost twenty years ago. Eateries and oil change shops offer discounts; furniture stores back their commercials with rippling red, white, and blue graphics; and there is always a pro-military bumper sticker in the afternoon rush