Wednesday, March 30
BAD DAUGHTER It's my own mother I think of when in the hot car it hurts me to watch my painstaking girl return from the water ice kiosk balancing three lemon ices in a four-hole tray, plastic spoons fanned in her fist, wad of napkins wedged between the ices, when a gust makes the napkins riffle then gambolling lift off, like and unlike ones that went before, fair girls in festival dresses dancing up the street, leaving her at the curb in flipflops and sweatshorts looking through the car window to see if I'm mad. (Daisy Fried)