The following poem may seem like a stretch, but in fact it is a window, an extension of the human condition, as we deal with what appears to be our

I have been living in America for many years. Real and I write the most beautiful works possible Because that’s what makes me happy if we’re always happy. And the

I overheard a conversation today, it began cordial enough with mostly agreements, until one speaker replied, “life was better back then.”   I looked at her and thought, for who?