SPITE FENCE My neighbor forced his abutter to raze the warped and rotten fence because he didn’t want to see the sagging wood when he sat on the porch in the morning having coffee with his wife. The fence was
Branches shiver as if a wand transformed them into wands themselves, the way our friends become poplars planted in their memory— Steven Clover, Lon Scott, Franco Palumbo, jeweler, banker, chef. There’s no rest from the list that grows each morning
after Montale When he saw me coming from stickball swinging a broom handle, he’d call Killer from his chair on the stoop.