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Category: Michael Chitwood

Frank Stanford and Gram Parsons Meet Little Walter

It was winderous, even the bare branches a-shaking.

The Indian took out a chicken foot and scratched his neck with it.

There was some men working on a bridge and below one man’s job was to wait with a boat in case someone fell.

Spike said things go slant sometimes.

Man hands you a pocketknife with the blade closed you hand it back with the blade closed. Open, open.

The Mississippi saxophone runs on breath coming and going.

What light does on water is a manifestation.

Men working, they talk about dogs; they talk about their mamas.

A little boat is jostlesome.

Water under the bridge, my friend, that’s what a bridge is for.

The Indian said the old ways were overrated, nobody ever mentioned all the coughing.

Five dollars says I could survive a fall, rocks and all.

Who decides where a bridge needs to be?

The man with the boat’s job was to be on the job.

From the bridge the water looks spanglety.

One guy had a cross tattooed on his back. He just had to know it’s there.

Men working on a bridge don’t cross it.

When you go, what you leave goes with you.

from Poetry Northwest 12.2 Winter & Spring 2018More by Michael Chitwood from the library

Copyright © Michael Chitwood
Used with the permission of the author
on behalf of Poetry Northwest.

This program is supported in part by a grant from the Idaho Humanities Council, a State-based program of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

Any views, findings, conclusions, or recommendations expressed in this (publication, website, exhibit, etc.) do not necessarily represent those of the Idaho Humanities Council or the National Endowment for the Humanities.