
I’m writing a story about a very small garden.
Not much of a plot.

I’m writing a story about a very small garden.
Not much of a plot.

I tried to have a conversation with the garbage man,
but all he did was talk trash.

Banking or accountancy,
what accrual way to make a living.

I‘m naming a new paper.
It’s the best quality available: “Ream of the crop.”

I could never be an artist.
All I have ever been able to draw is a crowd.

I had a job making false teeth.
It didn’t pay anything. They wanted indentured workers.

I took a glass-blowing class but I inhaled.
Now, I have a pane inside.

I shouldn’t subscribe to any magazines.
I only read them periodically.

Her: Have you seen the cat’s dish?
Me: No, but I’ve seen the fish gossip.

With all the budget talks going on,
I can’t help but wonder what the Department of Corrections must spend on White Out.