In Middleglen, the pendulum clock is in the town square, where the streets are lined with white needle trees. It’s been there for years, right beside the Hare’s Heart Inn, and no one knows how to calibrate it properly. It swings one way, then the other. Never stops in the middle and no one knows why.

It was there by the pendulum clock that they met. She had long violet hair, and heart-shaped eyes. The boy was dark-haired, pale, and still soft. She slept on what fell from the white needle trees, ate from the bins of the Hare’s Heart Inn, and her kiss, it was said, could drain a man’s soul. Leave him wrinkled, and empty, like a seersucker suit left to dry on the line.

The boy spent most days alone in his room. He read the newspaper, found strangers’ names and wrote eulogies for them. He listened to music, old scratched forty-fives; tunes from a time he did not remember. “Honey Roll”, by the Jelly Dots. “I Gotta Be you”, by…

Your car's ignition lock jams. The mobile mechanic you call breaks down on the way to fix it. Eventually he arrives, too late to do the repair. He diagnoses the fault and says he'll order a new lock set for the following day. He shows up at 0600, parks his truck blocking the driveway your car is in, and goes to sleep in it. A concerned neighbour calls the police. They hammer on your door to confirm his story, are satisfied and leave. He removes the old lock,…

There are guests at the dinner

friends at the party

he laughs when he says

almost drove past the church that day

there’s a list in his head

a repertoire

he talks about his acid years

man I was crazy

took off my clothes

threw ‘em all in the creek

his kayaking days

I paddled the Chattooga

that’s the one in “Deliverance”

a Class Five river

I’m an expert of course…