My adult daughter is in town for the holidays with her new boyfriend, a Royal Crown Cola Vending Machine. She directs all dinner table conversation towards him, trying to include him, trying to impress me as we drink coffee after the meal. She says he grew up really sheltered but has changed a lot. Everyone has room for change, she says, jingling a pocketful of quarters.
Tucker Leighty-Phillips is a writer. His work has been featured on Hobart, is being featured on Hobart's companion-journal right now, and may one day again be featured somewhere in the extended Hobart universe.
- On Wednesday I Get Ashes at the Drive-Thru
Katelyn Botsford Tucker
- How To Lie On Your Back Underwater And Not Drown Your Fool Self
- The Day Ends. The Day Ends. The Day Ends.
- And if this is where you live, welcome home
- After Saying John Ashbery’s Poetry Is Like Getting Out of a Bath When It’s Still Warm, And My Workshop Instructor Laughs and Tells Us He’s Going to Tell His Friend I Said That, Repeating What I Said in a Lower Voice, Not Like “John Ashbery’s Poetry Is Like Getting Out of a Bath When It’s Still Warm” but More Like “John Ashbery’s poetry is like getting out of a bath when it’s still warm” Because People Don’t Normally Talk in Capitals, and Did Y’all Know I Visited the Capitol in Fifth Grade on a School Field Trip as a “Safety Patrol,” Back When I Didn’t Know the Responsibilities Behind Patrolling a School, Before An Intoxicated Man Intruded My High School Last Year and the School Cop, on Their First Day, Didn’t Know What to Do, so the Local Cops Shot the Intruder in the Same Building I Was in