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Mark Wallace
As
Mark
Wallace's
poem builds
this generalized portrait of a hitchhiker with dog, it
provides
an example of the arch voice that we often hear in Frost's
work drawing the particular out of the general.
A HITCHHIKER AND HIS DOG
Rich in sorrow, it's called, but knowing what
he knows now, I bet he'd sooner be broke--
empty-bellied, holes-in-pants-and-shoes broke,
without that wealth of loss in his tight gut:
his Nam-vet son on total nursing-home care,
his ex-wife crazed, his daughter twice miscarried,
his dad dead young, his mom five times remarried;
not if--for him sorrow asks when and where.
Lucky in dogs, though, again and again,
with Honey, Freckles, George, Charles--except they
died first--and now, lame, nosing his legs, Ben,
ears pricked at the man's growls, "like me a stray."
No, when Master climbs out, I won’t slip him a ten,
but I’ll scritch the poor mutt as he hobbles away.
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
Mark Wallace'received
an honorable mention for this poem at the 2003 Robert Frost
Festival. He writes that, "Biographically, I teach writing and public speaking at Thomas College, in Waterville, Maine, and I've published about thirty poems (in International Poetry Review, Hawaii Review, Appalachia, the Appalachian Journal, Edge City Review (forthcoming), etc.). These days, I'm working exclusively in form."
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