Peter Chapman Poetry

the spare essex

hustle obscure cherish


my fine clandestine
my raw dog
my fish reservoir, shamble-janco

and on the 20, Jackson's pompador,
how he won the war and we bought Florida
with eyes so blue, that hairdo like my poverty

with its own incursions

Old Hickory blowing holes in the Seminoles,
letting riff raff the White House

spittle & cuss, rough cigars, thorny girls

me on the ferry, across Champlain,
no one on shore to blame