Poetry

I have posted a selection from my little book of poetry entitled "You Are an Awful Child and Your Parents Do Not Care For Your Company." It is my way of answering to the accusations of my troubled childhood.

My brother. This reminds me of him.

The wind still carries the gentle scent of Melinda to my door. I stand and swear I smell her perfume mixed with the decaying leaves in the backyard trash heap. I recall she wore it upon her wrists, so perhaps this is "poetic justice."