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January 27, 2018

When the rain hits the snake in the head,
he closes his eyes and wishes he were
asleep in a tire on the side of the road
so young boys could roll him over, forever.

–Frank Stanford, 1971

COMMENTARY: A friend of mine got me Frank Stanford’s collected poems for “procrastinator’s Christmas”–a couple weeks ago. He was an Arkansas poet, an imagist who drew on rural, shanty-down, shotgun-&-pickup-truck, mule & cigar-store-Indian Americana. I like this poem for thinking of a snake in a tire and the very subtle rhymes of “head” and “road” and “were” and “forever.”

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