Martha Rhodes Evil Late Afternoon Her biscuit in her hand, soggy, crumbling, lifted again to her cherub mouth, her little nubby teeth working at it—the mother absorbed in a text. The child crying suddenly, her biscuit lost somewhere in the carriage, the carriage jerkily wrenched back and forth by the mother's left foot, the mother still absorbed in the hateful thumbing away of a sentence— yes, I detest the mother who sits across from me in this detestable park, but the baby I love, the baby lifted away, by another, taken—by me? Childless Woman Lifts Child from Tribeca Park After Bumping into an Old Boyfriend at Local Whole Foods with Whom She Might Have Had a Child Had He Not Been an Alcoholic Faulkner Scholar with Two Children of His Own Who Lived in Elkhart Indiana and Didn't Even Remember What He Looked Like— doesn't notice, her left foot still working the carriage. Soon it will be dark.