So, if NaBloPoMo was nanabooboo in my house last November, then surely NaPoWriMo is nanapoopoo. Right?  I love bad poop jokes; it’s like I’m twelve. 

Yesterday, I wrote a batch of 5 American Sentences. While I’m not excited about all of them, but hey, the pen’s moving.  Here they are:

Teenage kisses, toothless smiles:  city people anticipating spring.

In April, Christmas lights still dangle, pale against the gray morning sky.

In the cafe, workers cultivated plants, watered their hungry roots.

Driving the same route every day, I find neighborhoods reveal slowly.

Two Amigos Bazar:  cell phones, lottery, food — still dark this morning.