The gravel road to my grandparent's
was pitted that Thanksgiving.
My roommate was quiet.
Shy quiet.
He had soft downy
hair on his arms.
He blushed
when I kissed my girlfriend in
our dorm room. I know
he heard us screwing.
He had nowhere
to go over the holiday. I blushed
and wanted to kiss him.
Who would hear
us screwing?
Joe Hilliard
Joe Hilliard. Writer. Luddite. Teller of Tales. Grew up as a teen in Los Angeles on a diet of Blue Demon, Doc Savage, Philip K. Dick, the Circle Jerks, Mildred Pierce, Judge Dredd, and 50s science fiction films, on the fringe of 80s Hollywood. Graduate of the University of Michigan, which only added Kawabata, Krazy Kat, and William S. Burroughs to the mix. Marks time as a paralegal in sunny California.