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“Whoa, look—the monkey prof. Can you believe it? He was just on TV.”

I grip the handlebar and pin my eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable crash.

The linebacker grins, but the lines around his eyes tighten.

If you are going to be my teacher, you will have to become a tiger.

I’m trying to manage my dumb-dumb time machine brain and be here.

The fires in the hills signify nothing more than their own wonder.

I want to dispute that depression is by definition pathological.

They drink hard liquor and growl about which musicians are hot.

The consensus was that all the great writers drank way too much.

Sometimes the phone would ring and ring, and I’d go answer. It was him.

I could page the women’s voices in their velvet bags bound with string.

I have seen your ocean. I have heard your waves beside my bed.

“were all here pregaming. at my dads apt. Wher the duck are u.”

It was good they were Africans, she thought. It meant less danger.

This poem weaves human and earthly hurt together in just a few short lines.

I was getting a little fogged, but I recognized irony when I heard it.

“I might surprise you,” Mr. Maxi said. Polly hoped he’d go all out.

These days murder is as common as love scenes were in the 1930s.

I am drawn to these victims because I was there the night they were killed.

The division of the community had become more marked than ever.

Meghan Dunn

In time the squirrel who was my friend is my friend no longer.

The King’s affair was supposed to be a secret. But you know how it is.

Our remarks must be tempered by a sense of cooperation.

Don’t tell him you’re a virgin, says Peggy. You’ll freak him out.

I have to say I am relieved it is over: at the end I could feel only pity.

We buy a bag of cockles and three crabs, all female, sweet with egg.

A gift tells you who you are and what you’re not in the eyes of others.