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Empty
By Andrew Jones Food pantry struggles to restock. I can’t word that any worse. Let’s talk about politics; police violence, racial inequality, taxes, marriage rights, we can debate for days, but food pantries? How can something so pure come to rummaging the local paper to fill itself, like an empty stomach trudging below the railroad bridge, tattered sign dragging against a harsh November wind, each door they pass closed in this small town, each rifle loaded, each belly gorging on the daily news, new tax reform, new police training, same old empty food pantry.
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The Red Wheelbarrow
By Andrew Jones so much depended upon that red wheel barrow you pushed across dirt, leaving a dusty trail across our barren backyard, no rain to glaze; just two small kids playing in the clay, mom roasting a chicken.
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Sky High
By Andrew Jones My favorite ways to watch you: When you roll your back onto the couch, letting your paws stretch towards some unknown pleasure, waiting for the inevitable belly rub. When you find just the perfect plot of grass to rub and roll around in, tail like an industrial fan while you tangle every part of your body with every inch of leash I have left. That is to say, my favorite ways to watch you are the ways you’ve flipped my world over and let me drift in your Sky.
