He could hear cars
on the Barstow-
Bakersfield Highway.
He could see his socks
in the kitchen window;
and the Sierras
over the garage.
A fly swam to his chin.
He waved it off.
The extension cord
snapped taut. And now
two grey-soled socks
cramp like bodies faced
with intractable distances.
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Issue 53 -
Editor's Note -
Poetry -
Fiction -
Book Review