by Tom Barlow
He stands in his backyard scanning the night sky for a planet-killer the exclamation point to his life that he has come to expect any day now. A pinball man, his wife slaps the flippers every morning to launch him caroming off the bumpers of his disaffected child, the job, the barstool, knee pain, lost friends, lost faith, tedious love, whiplashing him around the neighborhood like a teen was tilting the table. At three tries for a buck and fifty years in the game, the mad bells and flashing lights have finally exhausted him so he stamps an X in the snow. For the comet. For the jackpot. ___ Tom Barlow is a widely published author of poetry, short stories and novels. He writes because conversation requires a great deal of give and take, and he's always thought of himself as more of a giver. See more at tombarlowauthor.com.