It is a wonder that my eyes
may see the city from such
varied perches, day to day:

By bus: elevated so that
I may gaze indulgently
into wet, dirt-caked
cavities of construction sites
hidden when I am

By bike: so that the flawed
contours of road, frenzied
traffic patterns spill soft
city breath on my cheeks,
ever still when I am

By foot: so that I may watch,
observe, stop at the apex of the
Walnut Street Bridge and see
(for the first time) clumps of
bright clothing, remnants
of bicycles, water bottles
sticking to the concrete
embankment below.



But the argument
carries on, goes around
corners, crosses the
road, turns back on
itself, and

eventually ends up
somewhere neither
of us has ever been
before–at least,

not sober, and not
during daylight hours.

An accidental poem by Nick Hornby via High Fidelity. 


Spokane, WA


Having skittered clear
across the wet intersection,
one regretful person
(clutched in terror)
was the reason for
standstill traffic

Finally, it was my
turn to rubberneck,
when this ominous,
arresting image
caught me instead:

a procession of
autos, snaked miles
into the distance–

a thousand   p  u  f   f   s  s
of exhaust breath
hanging still
in the night


Darling as she was,
body scoot-scooting down
the hall–

pitter-patter nails on cement,
racing her owner to the
elevator, where I wait
at 8:30am

Two-pound Chihuahua,
blind as a bat

It is the sort of place
where dogs flee unleashed
through parking garages,
in elevators, through
open apartment doors
(in summer)

Leashes are carried,
administered sparingly
(on sidewalks, mostly)

And while sometimes
stressful, the dogs
aren’t the only ones

who find it freeing

Alfie looking angelic

Our Alfie 🙂


After which, he plunged the
cast iron pan into a soupy
sink of egg and bean particles.

Over easy, as it were, is actually
quite hard.

Four yolky casualties! He threw
up his hands: “We are not
having eggs this morning.”