Lone Ghost Haunted Theatre

A handshake for Crawford because a hug would get me killed.

When their baseball team is winning they will walk the party line.

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He slams the door and should be gone but driving back he’s there.

It rains outside and I collect my play-scripts and my young ones to go and balance the books.

An oil change before Virginia and an unnoticed nail.

Preston spit in the buffalo sauce, but I’ve been swimming with him since we were kids. I’m sure I’ve swallowed worse.

Coach Morris has a chicken joint. I ordered nuggets but dad wanted wings so I had to send them back.

We talk about golf tournaments to try to pass the time. It’s uncomfortable and he wants me to leave, but the car is stuck and the amenities are outstanding.

I just got lost, I just need some help out. He shows me the way as his family points and laughs.

A back door like a garage door, an infinity of cars. The owner of the house doesn’t shoot even though we’re in Texas.

Reading the second draft of Tina’s play. She changed the names. We ran long and we must read quietly; the baby is asleep.

We have a record player just for the cats.

On hands and knees searching for lime green but it’s nothing nothing nothing.

Untangling Sindy’s hair with my fingers. She was going to brush it out but she passed out too.

Stupid Keats’ nose is bleeding.

Bullied by three brothers for not visiting their restaurant. But I tried to come to visit and you all were out of town.

A poem about insurance and fatherhood. If he writes this beautifully, why do anything else?

Daddy with the MAGA hat. He passed out this morning, but that won’t stop him from reminding us who he is.

A culinary tour of West Texas. Should we get the burger place or the other burger place?

The girls arrive in time for book club. Someone isn’t happy to see me and I mock them without mercy. She doesn’t like that I am mean and that I’m having fun. I’m not sure if I do either.

Noodle brings a mouse to prepare me for my wrestle. He’s five and oh in strength contests but I am not afraid.

A blow job and a Blow-Pop mark an untraditionally hedonistic headshot session.

Was that you at Hyde Park Theatre? Did you ever work with Scot? Don’t we know the same people?

Show of hands, who thinks it’s weird that I didn’t rent a car? Well that’s embarrassing for you, Lauren.

There’s a tape delay, so if you go into the kitchen don’t get spoiled.

Push the yellow button on your heart to reveal the suspects. Mine threw out my back, but after all I was the mole.

Your status has no purchase here.

A dry heave and a gritty mouthfeel. Never drink the ashtray water.

Country comfort belies a city slick.