Best Poem of Glen Kappy

Happy New Mexicans Or Not In Indiana
Our barrels filled with last night's rain
the puddles and the concrete stain
the hiding of the daytime lamp
the feeling of the cool and damp—
because they are not usual
is why we can be grateful. . . .
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Tiresmith
The hissing blasts—
machine gun spurts—
the clank of metal banging metal—
the shouting to be heard—

the dimness and the need
to pick a path around tires—
the grime which made it hard
to find a place to lean or sit.

But him—his speed, his skill—
which likely made it cost so little—
. . .
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