The Gals

My mother stands at the kitchen window in a worn chenille housecoat and bunny slippers watching Uncle Roscoe hang up laundry on the clothesline next door. She lights a Chesterfield. Her ritual is to take a long drag, pick the tobacco off of her tongue, then blow out a small gray cloud. She’s fond of saying that if she liked cigarettes any better, she’d eat the goddamned things.

Einstein In Passing

If Einstein was right in my misunderstanding of e=mc squared, and if Freud was right in my misunderstanding of myself, and if my mother was right when she said, “ Get moving!  What do you think…