Peggy Is A Piece Of Work

Peggy is a piece of work. Only Joanie knows. While she would be happy to talk, she's not about to volunteer just how big a piece and what kind of work. So Joanie shoves it to the back corner of her mind so that it only appears when Peggy does. Then it explodes and she has to cheek her tongue—Peggy is a piece of work—and shove it back. It was Peggy that sicced them dogs on Marianne. That was some job. It was Peggy that sicced them girls on that young SOB. So sicced, Joanie catches her breath.

From Guest Contributor Rick Henry

Rick's most recent? "The Other Daughters," an audio production a performance poem featuring 120 contributing voices.

Free

"Oooh, look!" Miriam slowed for a u-turn. They had been driving the county routes and dead ends. The third sofa. "Free" written on cardboard. A recliner.

Her daughters tumbled out. Mitzi leaped from the hatchback. The girls bounced. One bounced on the recliner.

"Here Mitzi!" Mitzi jumped.

"Over here!" One daughter bounced on the sofa. Cushion to cushion. Mitzi twirled.

Miriam pointed to the recliner. "This one?" One daughter squealed. "That one?" nodding to the sofa. The other squealed.

Mitzi spun.

Miriam placed two cushions into the far back. Mitzi jumped. The girls slid. Miriam drove.

"That's enough for today."

From Guest Contributor Rick Henry

Than Anything Else

I asked him about the authors that influenced him.

He shrugged the question away.

"I'm more embarrassed by the story than anything else. Let it die."

"Than anything else," I thought. And again "Let it die." What was that anything else?

He was at the wood stove again, apparently indicating that was it, the interview was over.

"Walkside, strophanthin, and the adult bookstore," I said, trying to be delicate. "I'm not saying you didn't make things up, but..."

He spun quickly, poker in his hand. The dogs' heads jerked up.

"What do you want from me?"

The interview was over.

From Guest Contributor Rick Henry