In the garden this morning,
I knelt to pinch the basil back
and found a baby rabbit
mild and untouchable as a baked potato.
He'll be my guest tonight
sitting at the dream table between you and me
wearing a double-breasted aluminum jacket.
In the salad bowl, an argument Bill and I had about money—
crisp Lincolns tossed in a lemon vinaigrette.
Frank's cancer's a Charlotte Russe
lying like a stray bullet on the counter.
All our daughters are grown, Sarah.
Why still cook when the chairs are empty?
The mind's eye's for imagining,
but the mouth of the mind is a gullet
where our days empty out
—the everyday, the unbearable, and the good—
and the night kitchen serves it up with iced mint tea
as fast as we can wash it down.
TODAY IN SLATE
Driving in Circles
The autonomous Google car may never actually happen.
Where Ebola Lives Between Outbreaks
Gunman Killed Inside Canadian Parliament; Soldier Shot at National Monument Dies
Sleater-Kinney Was Once America’s Best Rock Band
Can it be again?
Paul Farmer: Up to 90 Percent of Ebola Patients Should Survive
Is he right?
“I’m Not a Scientist” Is No Excuse
Politicians brag about their ignorance while making ignorant decisions.
The Right to Run
If you can vote, you should be able to run for public office—any office.