From the barber’s chair, I watch the same view: photographs of shirtless studs, Angelo in younger days hula dancing, my hair in the mirror that Angelo makes, for a time, less rinsed in gray. After a trim and the day’s first gossip, he always turns the topic to Pierre, handsome neighbor who vanished to Palm …
The counterman says Welcome back— he’s never seen our faces.If you want poetry, look in history.Three floors of Popular Mechanics and ruin.Nothing’s been shelved since Reagan took the oath. Across the street, sliver boys pander outside a bar called The Peter Pan. You know,my brother says, for fairies.Back in the stacks, deeper in dust, the …