by Steve Lebow


Today is Tuesday.
I have begun to think about
certain things.

Women, wearing tight skirts,
pass me by. I make asides
they don’t respond to.

A piece of paper hurries by
and a tree shakes its fist.
I move out of both of their paths.

Then the sunlight shifts
from air to land.
I walk up steps, only to forget

which step it is I’ve climbed?


Tomorrow will be
the day after today. I begin to wonder
if one day will resemble the other.

It doesn’t matter, in the sense
that I can forget
or mistake one day for another.

I can remember, too,
Certain things I have left;
today, tomorrow, the day after that.

The hair on my face
Pushes its way through the skin.
I remember that it’s time

to take a razor up again.

About the Author:

Rabbi Steven Lebow has published mystery, horror, and science fiction stories in Aphelion Magazine of Science Fiction, Infernal Ink, Literally Stories, The Bitchin’ Kitsch, The Airgonaut, Penny Shorts, Flash Fiction Magazine, the Scarlet Leaf Review, Down in the Dirt, Literary Heists and Danse Macabre.