Short Fiction and Poetry

Prufrock measured life in coffee spoons ‘round here, it’s draughts, cheques, trips to Puerto Plata— where poor camareras change old boys’ bedsheets

In March when the days stretch swollen-jointed fingers through the grey seed hull of winter sun, [...]

I’m just hanging around this cramped room awaiting the dreaded words, “You're up next , kid”. Pacing up and down like a caged animal [...]

I am a lone traveler with a bag of metaphors. It gets bigger with every new person [...] and place, but not in weight.

When my father was stationed on that beautiful bay with its long, uninhabited peninsula, we lived in officer quarters [...]

I gave each line a fair start but finished only a few. After the first page, I was eager to sign so I quickly flipped to the second. [...]

Maybe it was the fact that it was day three out of five on her own with the kids — Richard was away on business again [...]

The old man was as lean as a tough winter, and yet he never got cold. He wore a hoodie and tatty fishing gloves in January. [...]

Open a window, otherwise you’re living in a tomb. Avoid dying on a humid Wednesday, slumped in the communal vinyl throne [...]

Red has three distinct memories of his mother. He remembers the first smile she gave him. His twin sister Dahlia says he’s making up the memory [...]