Low Rent Poem of the Day
The Best Beer
Hitching across Oklahoma in July heat
I scuffed my shoes beside the highway.
In the woods on 62 a rusting truck
pulled off the road and the driver handed me
a Sunday beer. He didn't call me "Bub"
and didn't offer me a ride, but we talked
as the sun began to fade, about wanting
and not getting, about people helping
each other out. A bird called in the distance
he tipped his hat, got into the truck
and I headed home to Fayetteville.
posted by Sean @ 10:20 PM
2 comments
2 Comments:
This poem sucks. You have to fix it. You can rewrite the whole poem, just change one line, or write a new poem as a comment. No judgement will be made about your poem. I also want to add that "holy hell, blogger is now allowing you to upload your own pix for free. Amazing." Also, you all might be interested in a band called the Weakerthans. I'm liking them. Thanks.
i'm glad you said it first. i was trying to think of something constructive, like ''wanting and not getting' is very nice,' but that's all i had...
throat cracked like my shoes
i asked him for water
but he tossed me a beer instead
we talked about wanting and not getting
and staying anyway
and what the sunset means
to men like us
not much better, but brave in the attempt, yes?
have you heard the good life? they're from nebraska and really excellent. listen to them on my itunes if you can, or preston has them now too, and i'll burn them if you like. i think you would.
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