I barked and barked… and the sun came up.
His coffee, my biscuit.
Toast and a treat.
He’ll read the newspaper,
I’ll dream of slow, inattentive cats.
When he reaches down to ruffle my fur,
his hand feels like the afternoon sun.
This must be what they call Thanksgiving.
Paul Bluestein is a physician by profession (OB-GYN), a self-taught musician (guitar and keys), and a devoted Bridge and Scrabble player (yes, ZAX is a word). He is also a writer of poetry whenever the Muse unexpectedly calls him and rings insistently until he answers (even if he doesn’t want to talk with her just then).
For the Babies
Ten of us ate and ate, then ate some more. The bill was more than reasonable, considering the impeccable service, excellence and variety of food. The neat thing about dining at the inn was the nostalgic feeling of being at grandma’s house before the war. Stuffed, content, yawning with happiness.
Over the years Bob Thurber’s work has received a long list of awards and prizes. His most recent book is a collection of brief stories titled “Nothing But Trouble.” His first novel, “Paperboy: A Dysfunctional Novel,” was recently rereleased. Visit BobThurber.net.
Editor’s Note: Let’s all hope and pray for peace, not only in our own homes but in those places on the news that can seem so far removed.
Beware of Ifs. Onlys follow them. They will lead you down dark alleys where Regrets will ambush you. You are sure to be kneecapped by Paralysis and blinded by Sorrow. And there, you’ll remain for the rest of your life. You’ll never find your way home where Hope keeps vigil.
Kamalinii is a prisoner of Ifs.
Eric waited in line for a ticket guaranteeing a 32-inch television for only $99.
His family continued celebrating, all except his mother, forced to work. Black Friday was now Black Thanksgiving.
Tickets ran out three people ahead of him. Eric purchased a football, hoping E.J. would forgive him for leaving.
James W. Davidson, Jr. is double majoring in English and Philosophy at Winthrop University.