First Slam
“Frank, are you ready?” “Yes.” “Give it up for Frank!” Applause. Kelly yells, “alright, Frank!” I walk up the aisle to the stage. Face the audience of fellow poets and slammers; six judges; Bill,...
Author: Frank J. Tassone
A Get-together
Michelle drops her son off at our house earlier than expected. Matthew joins us at the kitchen table as we finish dinner. Mira defrosts and then reheats the leftover Ziti his mother brought. Frankie...
Lawrence Farm Orchard Experience
clear skies cool enough to pick yellow delicious with three of our friends so satisfying Frankie’s audio diary. His climb up Granny Smith, Gala and Fuji trees for the unblemished, still hanging apples higher...
HSA Meeting
The Haiku Society of America’s NYC Metro chapter hosted the Society’s National Meeting. Held in a modest community room of a local West Village Arts center, perhaps 22 people gathered in the space. Forty...
“Meet the Teachers”
We sit in G’s new room. H. grades papers. Ilana checks her messages. D has his iPad open. Judy arrives with a handful of parents. She presents; one asks a question. Then another. Soon...
Dizzying Orientations
His humanities classroom with Ms. Narscisco looks like any room at Montebello. His other rooms look more like those of typical High Schools. The science room is the exception, with its wood paneling and...
Captain’s Last Stand
I bring Frankie out of his bedroom. It is 10:00PM, but he was not asleep. The Yankees play the Orioles in the Bronx. It is the top of the ninth inning; the home team...
Encountering Two Snakes
The orange trail ascends Halfway Mountain. Yellow and brown elm leaves blanket the flanks of the path. As I say something to Mira, I jump with a start. Inches away, a black rat snake...
Midday Meal
The bitter-sour flavor of hot-and-sour soup. The doughy texture of the fried dumplings. Fresh sushi. The tangy sweetness of General Tso’s chicken. The sweet, creamy deliciousness of soft-serve vanilla ice cream. No wonder the...
Ordinary Awakening
I nurse a cup of coffee at the kitchen table, staring out the storm door. The darkness will crack at any moment. Inky black will fade to a deep purple, before transforming into a...
Those Toy Crabs
The last line of sunlight on the western horizon. A ruffle of papers, the rattle of a ceiling fan. A memory of the plastic crabs that I had come to possess. Was it at...
That Black Trench Coat
The late 1910s. Grandpa Vuolo wore it on those cold days when he looked for work. It was black wool, fine as camel hair, with a raised collar and large button; the coat easily...
