On Turning Thirty-Four
Jason Tandon
Wisteria in the back lot spindles up wire towers, fires the same purple as the pinch pot I made in high school to pass art and graduate. Then I'm driving up the street for a picnic table with warped boards and a sign gently flapping: Take Me, Please I'm Free while my son squats in his kiddie pool licking cake batter from a wooden spoon.