Not How It Usta' Been...
Realizing our parents kept growing after we grew up.
Father once told me and my friend
that drawing with pen would poison our skin.
Dad now has more ink than me
and grows his own green,
as mellow today as rigid back then.
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The Spring
The sun was high when Lance pulled off the road and into the dusty lot of the service station. The sign back at the hairpin--the first sign in a long time--said they just rolled into Hatter’s Creek, Population 63. It was small enough it didn’t appear on the handmap in Shelby’s lap, yet here it stood, the first backwater township on the fringes of the National Park. The plan was to gas up, restock the snack bag, and press on into the wilderness.
By Zack Graham6 days ago in Fiction
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