like a mango at the earthen end of its fall, I rolled out of bed this morning excited to create my sticky rice dish but I made too little rice overcooked it was short on sugar and the coconut milk smelled a little off yet, the guests raved and finished every bite perhaps it was the presentation; rice ball, drizzled with coconut syrup and orange clumps of mango, slick and sweet that simply won them over though I ate quietly it adding a slight lip cringe to the conversa

the name alone intrigues, right? Austin, never said that name before, stopped for a poem on one of those electric bikes, those fat overweened two wheelers with an annoying zip to them (I’ve been startled too many times on my walks by the creek) we talked more about the “B” side of my poetry, used crossword puzzles critiqued and corrected poems bank notices, retired stationary old flyers, announcements (tree slaughter hurts me too) and because a smile never left his

what if we had clear skin a see-through chest a translucent skull suffering would be apparent and if they could measure loneliness, lovelessness, guilt and grief, how obvious our problems then the next step would whittle down to remedies and cures except for those who for deep and distant reasons wish to remain unwell even when a slice of the sun sits on a plate, reflects off a fork and into hungry eyes