Two Prose Poems by Jeff Friedman
“You don’t sing much, do you, son?” my father asks, sitting in his chair in the living room.
Jeff Friedman
Vampire by Jeff Friedman
“Stop biting me,” I said—scratching a new welt on my neck. She must have bitten me again while I was napping on the couch.
Strip Poker & Dybbuk by Jeff Friedman
My lover shuffles the deck, fanning the cards into a bridge. The cards arc like a rainbow, then fly wildly through the air like fish hurling out of the water into the mouths of bottled-nosed dolphins that leap to catch them in their hungry mouths.
