Easter Lilies
I drop a sugar cube into the glass. watch it fizz up through the vodka and champagne. you give me that grin. we argue over some paperback. the room fills with the smell of garlic and damp masonry. the sauce is bubbling on the stove. muck spitting over the rim. it hits the iron ring
The Clocks
under the white fluorescence of the beer garden, the oak tables gleamed against the pine, their surfaces marked with faint rings where ashtrays once stood. the coasters still carried their faded pictures of maidens; the empty glasses held thin circles of dry froth along their rims. I had a pint in front of me, my
