You might come here Sunday on a whim.
Say your life broke down. The last good kiss
you had was years ago. You walk these streets
laid out by the insane, past hotels
...
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Richard Hugo tells it like is for small town America. These towns are gray. I come from one in northeast pa. And yes the prison is still there, so is the tavern where I had my first illegal beer, but the churches are going fast and nothing seems to move forward. I have always admired Hugo for his realism and grit. Check out his Dream Poems, they are beautiful.
Hugo rated this his best poem; I do too. There is wit-'streets laid out by the insane' and a tender ending 'whose red hair lights the wall'.