The Blue Pitcher

that which may be filled and emptied

Long Road Home

There seem to me…

few things sadder than old blue curtains held up by thumbtacks.

Jimmy Dale Bland: Double Death

So maybe you had to run get milk this morning or your neck feels a little funny because you slept on a weird pillow; maybe you’re holed up in a little motel mountain room trying to write the great American something or other and all you’re coming up with are cryptic little poems called “Bud says;” maybe summer’s going too fast or not fast enough and they fired you or gave you a job you don’t just love; maybe you’re hungry or sleepy or feeling fat or your hair looks a little crooked or you’ve lost all faith in god and humankind and you haven’t had a slice of cake in months–oh reader, it could be worse! You could be this man:
Jimmy Dale Bland

Not only is cancer eating up his insides and the doctors promising him no more than six months, the good state of Oklahoma is speeding up the process by executing him this afternoon. Thank you very much, Jimmy Dale, your services on this here planet are no longer needed. Wow. And I just thought having a last name like “Bland” was bad.