Isabella

Isabella

The pop quiz
whiz kid
had a Spanish name

for his imaginary
girlfriend. In
time-tested teen logic

a foreign name made it
believable. Verisimilitude
didn’t fly and neither did ten

cent names in a dollar store town.
Lunch box mentality
meant sons who took lunch money had

fists like frozen hams. The
nose bent slightly in the
mirror. He was too smart

to not see the left hook:
“bitches like you don’t have
girlfriends.”
Wrapped in a family quilt

the nose radiated pain like a
knobby antenna, picking up
the faint
chords of a flamenco.

morning commute

morning commute in January

snow at the sidewalk’s edge

untouched. Frozen mud awaiting

unsuspecting heels and soles. I know

how the mud froze and even in dress

shoes, I cut a path above

as long as

as far as

I could before joining

the tangle of urban tracks. For a

moment even as temporary as a

blanket of snow I wanted to know

where I came from made a visible mark.