PROMPTS for MONDAY

The warm fug in a winter car

We let the boy-soldiers practice on pigs

Behind the dirty, yellowing lace

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Anything could happen, anything

Polishing Daddy’s Volvo

If you stare long enough…

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The pinned frog twitches

Before she was a virgin

My books £100,000. If i hadn’t bought them I’d be poor.

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Sandcastles, sand-moats, sand soldiers at the gate

Lungs like a clogged drain

In the garage, the car cools, slowly becoming alone

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Blood-Red Walls, white-dado

Once fish grew legs and pigs, gills

I am sort of Irish

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The pain you carry on your back

My dowdy leather bag

Why are kids called “Squirt”?

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I turned to look, but the past had disappeared

Sunday-Morning Sex

Love was once just a noun

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I lay it on the altar of my desk

Sometimes, if I am not careful, I think of my mother

The utterly naked Mind

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With a breath, we step across the rope

The moon is often kind

My badge says “Designated Driver”