A lecture on Boston Marriages in St. Louis. The first of seven
Motel 6s in Oklahoma City. Disenchantment and desert
in Albuquerque and Tucson. The hills and the Hillcrest
neighborhood, the heat and the homeless of San Diego.
A young movie star’s tattooed mother protecting her
Mercedes Benz in Woodland Hills, a dishy deli breakfast
in Sherman Oaks. Halloween on Fremont Street in Las
Vegas. Election night elation, followed by Wednesday’s
mixed blessing in San Francisco. The wet air of Astoria,
Oregon and waiting for the sun in Olympia. The individual
charms of Seattle and Bellingham. Hungry meth-heads
and retired Klansmen at a Denny’s in Boise. The twirling
propellers of turbines. The tainted barbed wire fences
and a cup of North African peanut soup at a vegetarian
café in Laramie, Wyoming. The freshly decimated corpses
of deer, coyotes, raccoons, and assorted road kill cluttering
the shoulder of the road. An unexpected and rewarding
reunion in Denver. A bicentennial Viewmaster in Salt Lake
City. Abandoned teenagers in Nebraska. And the only thing
standing between you and home, the rolling hills and
wintry, snow speckled winds of Iowa’s endless prairie.
An entertainment journalist, whose interviews and reviews run in numerous regional LGBTQ and mainstream publications, Gregg Shapiro lives in Fort Lauderdale, Florida with his husband Rick and their dog Coco. Shapiro’s two newest chapbooks are More Poems About Buildings and Food (Souvenir Spoon Press, 2019) and Sunshine State (NightBallet Press, 2019).