The Blues (a poem)

Bask in nighttime blues

stars dot the sky like flecks of white paint

Mothers moan for lost children –

we want rhythm, but not the blues

the aqua blue of deep seas

the blackened blue of bruised eyes

the blues guitar of the Mississippi Delta

the crystal blue eyes of your lover –

sing the blues, young one

sing ‘em while draped in a blue dress

drowning in muddy waters.

(Photo by Steve Johnson on Unsplash)

City of Dogs (a short story)

Cindy parked her work truck in the shade by a McDonald’s and took a big bite out of her Quarter Pounder. Her lunch breaks were always interrupted by phone calls — the endless calls from dispatchers. Today was no different.

When her phone rang, she turned down the Brad Paisely song on her radio.

 “Hey, sunshine,” said Marcus, the dispatcher. “Feel like catching any more dogs today?”

It wasn’t the call Cindy wanted to get. But at least it wasn’t the call, the one she constantly feared getting.

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