Poetry

I looked up at him With my best stern look, sassy look, a look that told him I was serious. Standing jaunty like with arms on hips, feet wide apart, head slightly cocked, and wide eyes. Tight lips with a downward curve. Just like my momma shows me every time I get in trouble. Which is often. I mean: only

Smoke puffs and ponders before billowing and wisping through a window exchanging a cool breeze for the final grey thoughts of a weary traveler chewing on the nub of a glowing cigar that is soon grasped between the index and middle finger of his hand gripping a greying steering wheel while the other reaches for a mug. Steam rises with

(301) 660-8912 authortbaldwin@yahoo.com