"chawing" poems
People Gossiping
Food fights
People crammed and scattered
Yelling and screaming
Chewing and chawing
Lunch
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 2:54 PM UTC
I think about the town I was raised in
I don’t have far to travel
I never left
And the other day someone asked me
“Where would you go if you could go anywhere,
didn’t have to worry about money?”
“Well,
I’d go down to the party store
grab a twelver,
some chaw,
a pack of darts (menthol),
some Canadian whiskey,
and two slices of pizza.
Then I’d go back home and use them all up
until next time.”
I think about my town and
smile at the monuments
I’ve created.
Although they are not grand pieces of art
that hang in a museum, or gallery
they are mine
and I keep them
perhaps too close
they smother me
and I think about leaving them
like leaving a lover in the night,
always.
Even though it is a prison
it is my prison
and if I did leave,
left the door open
and a dart burning on the porch railing
only new prisons await
no matter where
how far
how long.
And after a life of prisons,
You have to rest in one,
just one.
So, alas
Here I am in my final prison
smoking and chawing,
drinking and writing.
Cheers from prison
Your pal,
Matthew Lee MacDonald
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 5:58 PM UTC
Grass browned and cut with a chawing cud
Fat and round with a sun burnt down
Unlike me
Not a one of them knows a breath of Frost
Or has ever weighed over an ounce of Cummings evenly
No
We are different makers, different means
With different paths to guided completely differently
And thank God for that
And this preferential me
Jun 24, 2019
Jun 24, 2019 at 8:45 AM UTC