Hangtown Fry
He is a bushel of broiler pans today.
His music could flay a mosquito,
leave a lady younger, more gullible,
less precise on such a gentle evening.
He goes by one thing or another,
but I just call him Hangtown Fry.
6 thoughts on "Hangtown Fry"
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I kinda love this little poem, especially the feeling invoked in the middle lines. It made me smile.
a truly unique and memorable portrait. I think I know him
Listening to Seasick Steve playing a diddley bow!
makes me think of hurrying to finish
chores to get to the county fair-
and staying out too late..
I love the use of alliteration and consonant sounds here–a powerful punchy percussive poem.
The sounds– wow!
He is a bushel of broiler pans today.
His music could flay a mosquito,