Francie Camper
On one of the last days of summer we had never seen the bay so flat, still nor had we ever seen a swimmer’s unbroken wake, two thin ripples widening into a perfect isosceles triangle.
He said he could talk a pack/of dogs off a meat truck but/what we noticed was how/straight and easily he stood/on the uneven rocks, how well/he told a story
I have learned a new word, a noun, the pull-by.