My eyes met his as he dug the blade in. I saw sorrow; he saw fear. His buddy yelled, “Let’s go.” I prayed these burglars left my child alone.
The sun comes up and the walkers make time in Maple Park Cemetery. Nobody sees the old man in the Ford coupe. He has become invisible to us.
Thanksgiving just passed and I made your famous pistachio pudding that you made especially for me on this holiday. It brought back memories.
His final words were louder than the gunshot’s blast:”You’ve got the wrong—!”
The boy’s on my porch. Come to rob me, I know. I’m old, alone. The gun bucks in my hand. Blood spatters the newspapers in his fallen bag.
The skiff, bobbing; the ocean, placid; the squall, sudden; the wave, monstrous; the water, frigid. The dolphin: a friendly deus ex machina.