Tag Archives: Daniel M. Shapiro

In prison, his job is to check machines, to make sure nostalgia has been removed. What he had done couldn’t happen again: no more sitting in the last pickup, imagining to be one of the boys walking by. Secrets lived in someone else’s tree house. To think you peaked in youth is to languish in […]

Since the smog stole their light, her dog has had no use for eyes. She had sneaked her tools in his chew toy, wrenches rolled on drivers. She told them the urns were Mom and Dad’s ashes. They didn’t check, didn’t see the inner frameworks. In the last days of alliteration and rhyme, she had […]