SO I STARTED BRINGING MY OWN, in my own damn aluminum bucket like the ones the steak house used to have, when they served peanuts, but not the same kind of bucket exactly, since mine was to tote beer around in and had the “Miller High Life” logo painted on the side, but the logo … Continue reading They Stopped Serving Peanuts At The Steak House
THE PIGS WERE LINED UP on the platform of a little wood-framed stage, each one inside their own tiny pen made of clapboard and metal, some pressing snouts between the short, thin bars that were soon to be raised, jerking necks and stretching wide eyes colored jet black in the fluorescent-lit night, while others raced … Continue reading Night in the Ruts
“PACK THE VAN, Marty,” Jack said. “Now?” “Now. Make sure you have everything. Video and stills for all three of us.” “OK. For what?” “The last bullfight,” he said. “Mexicans are outlawing bullfighting at the end of April. We have nine days to make the last one in Huamantla. La Taurina.” “Why?” “To make a … Continue reading The Last Bullfight
IT MIGHT HAVE STARTED with our father gifting my sister and me Swiss Army knives for our birthdays. Or maybe it was the broccoli and cauliflower drowned in melted Cheese Whiz he forced us to eat. My twin sister, in our private language, shared her revenge fantasies for that particular parenting faux pas. I won’t … Continue reading Cryptophasia
THE SCIENCE FICTION WRITER waited outside the hotel, a revolver hanging heavy in the inner pocket of his overcoat. He’d only fired it twice, but at close range he didn’t imagine he’d have any difficulties. His hand was steady as he brought a cigarette to his mouth and puffed; in any case, it was all … Continue reading Zero/One
ALL THAT WINTER, they watched it. Someone had cleared a rectangle of snow from the frozen pond, or lake, whichever it was, that lay at the northernmost side of their neighborhood in Ypsilanti where the streets began to yield to farms, and at one end of the ice they placed a hockey net. But it … Continue reading The Difference Between a Lake and a Pond
I GUESS I OWE everything to the old moose head hanging over the front desk at the Beaver Lake Lodge in Wild Duck, Minnesota. It is a rather large obnoxious thing even for me and it usually needs dusting. The first time I visited the lodge I was just out of college likely trying to … Continue reading Why James Tate and I May Write Alike
Here are Hidden Peak Press' 2025 Pushcart Prize nominees.
AS SOON AS he saw the interior of Maya Winger’s garage, Ram knew he’d be grateful to finish the day broke. She clearly knew she wasn’t just selling her father’s old junk; she offered something else: the man’s actual thoughts, his genius. That was going to cost Ram. Climate-controlled and brightly lit, the garage was … Continue reading Time Signatures
I STUMBLE TOWARD SHORE, my teeth clacking together like musical spoons. After carrying me just a few yards, my wobbly pins introduce me face-first to the sand. I lie in a shivering heap and wait for the late afternoon sun to broil the chills from my body. After the tremors abate, I hotfoot it to … Continue reading What Happens in BC