Adriana Grant
2 Poems
Route 2
A corner greased with the scent of fried chicken. In certain counties rocks are painted white, decorating driveways like they’re something special. Scatter of startled squirrels. Dark water, oily as a mirror. His eyes slide by, like fish.
Summer Decidedly Scrunched
I’m definitely going to go to as many ballgames and amusement parks as I can. Tim Boyle made up for lost time last week on his boat, Happy, in Mamaroneck, N.Y. No one has ridden a bike. Ms Hurwitz said she developed a higher tolerance for precipitation this spring. No monsoon? No problem. We played tennis in the drizzle. Her garden was another matter.
