Small Town
by Philip Booth

You know.
The light on upstairs
before four every morning. The man
asleep every night before eight.
What programs they watch. Who
traded cars, what keeps the town
moving.
The town knows. You
know. You've known for years over
drugstore coffee. Who hurts, who
loves.
Why, today, in the house
two down from the church, people
you know cannot stop weeping.

new new new

There’s a funny role reversal happening here. We’re sitting in the coffee shop at Powell’s City of Books, and I’ve been writing furiously for the past hour. Chris, on the other hand, has been leafing through the stack of books that he pulled from the shelves. I’ve only picked up two, and don’t intend on making a purchase. He was just bemoaning how much money he’s likely to spend. This makes me laugh.

It’s 2010. Wow. Here’s to a better year than last!