Born in a sharecropper's shack in '32, I thought we were well off. Still do. To Memphis in the War, and things, free books, picture shows, indoor plumbing. Home again, played football, proved myself a man. Drafted for Korea, Panama instead. Art, then Architecture. Met a middle child like me. We moved 12 times the next three years. Went home again (not hers, she says) and built a throwaway, added on as three boys came, stayed 20 years. Moved up the hill and built a solar shack. Had 2000 chickens, sold and ate the eggs and later, them. Back to drawing houses, built a few, became a basket case. Prozac pulled me through. Took to writing verse, I guess as an excuse to hang with words to see what they would say. And read, to hear what they said yesterday. Growing up and old, our times and wars, letters not meant to mail, trying to make sense and nonesense out of things--whatever occurred to me. Not too negative, not to whine too much, subtlety a no-no, ironic, a little levity.
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Book Description Xlibris Corp, 2001. Paperback. Book Condition: New. Bookseller Inventory # DADAX0738852686