by David S. Pointer
That day my grandma
loaded me into her 62
Ford, we went to see
a Hank Snow concert
usually I loved her many
country records-Johnny
Horton, Marty Robbins,
the man who became
The Man in Black, but
I didn’t like Hank Snow’s
record, then standing on
that wooden theater chair
so I wouldn’t drown in hall
flooding fan exuberance, I
had to admit Hank was
really great singing Ghost
Trains, 90 Miles an Hour,
and The Golden Rocket
and after that it was as if
Edison, Tesla, Westinghouse
had all been fired and life
was lit up by thunder and
lightning powered with
some Hobo’s last cigarette
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