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The Sticks , and: As in a Sudden Downpour, When, and: Fair

The Sticks , and: As in a Sudden Downpour, When, and: Fair Todd Boss The Sticks, my mother still mutters whenever she remembers where we lived, reciting then her one life sentence of overlush underbrush, neighbor trash, shoddy farms and fallen fences and filthy Herefords knee deep in barnyard shit. Ugh, she says, it makes me sick. To have been stuck there, with those hicks in Derision, Wisconsin, a beer bottle's throw from the poverty line, her bleary eyes fixed on the stinking horizon, her candle's ends weeping hot wax at their wicks. As in a Sudden Downpour, When, out on the town together, men won't wait until the harder shower's over, nor cower, nor dodge for cover, awning to awning, as one would certainly do on one's own, but troop on as before, or slower, as if the weather were warfare, every street a trench, their amble in the drench a marching order-- don't we too, arm in arm on a foreign city's cobbles, stumble from welfare into harm on cue, our duty to perform, but in no hurry, drunk on courage, gauging only a faraway worry in the rage? Don't we too slosh from age to age and curtain to curtain, awash in camaraderie, our eager number our http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Prairie Schooner University of Nebraska Press

The Sticks , and: As in a Sudden Downpour, When, and: Fair

Prairie Schooner , Volume 82 (1) – May 11, 2008

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Publisher
University of Nebraska Press
Copyright
Copyright © 2008 University of Nebraska Press
ISSN
1542-426X
Publisher site
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Abstract

Todd Boss The Sticks, my mother still mutters whenever she remembers where we lived, reciting then her one life sentence of overlush underbrush, neighbor trash, shoddy farms and fallen fences and filthy Herefords knee deep in barnyard shit. Ugh, she says, it makes me sick. To have been stuck there, with those hicks in Derision, Wisconsin, a beer bottle's throw from the poverty line, her bleary eyes fixed on the stinking horizon, her candle's ends weeping hot wax at their wicks. As in a Sudden Downpour, When, out on the town together, men won't wait until the harder shower's over, nor cower, nor dodge for cover, awning to awning, as one would certainly do on one's own, but troop on as before, or slower, as if the weather were warfare, every street a trench, their amble in the drench a marching order-- don't we too, arm in arm on a foreign city's cobbles, stumble from welfare into harm on cue, our duty to perform, but in no hurry, drunk on courage, gauging only a faraway worry in the rage? Don't we too slosh from age to age and curtain to curtain, awash in camaraderie, our eager number our

Journal

Prairie SchoonerUniversity of Nebraska Press

Published: May 11, 2008

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