Poetry Subscriber Only

Stammer; In Morocco


Stammer My father drove because he always drove. It was a day trip, late June and of course my mother sat up front and the three of us rode in back. We drove past Mr. Neil who waved once. We drove by Rock Lake and McCleary’s Garage. It was noon and we drove in the […]

This content is for subscribers only. Please log in below, or sign up for a subscription here.