Robert L. Dean Jr

home is where the psychologist asks I tap my chest the textbook answer a hollow sound an echo of furniture stolen when I wasn’t looking a problem of the heart the cardiologist says as I collapse upon the treadmill the echocardiogram detects rotting wood crumbling brick but what about those bumps in the night such

It’s a beautiful late fall Sunday here in Augusta and he’s driving balls off a tee in his back yard, hits the water every time. But then, his yard faces the city lake and there’s no fence and it’s a small town but a big lake, no way he can miss it. His swing is