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A dull sound varying now and again

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Written by: Forrest Hamer | Biography
 And then we began eating corn starch,
chalk chewed wet into sirup.
We pilfered Argo boxes stored away to stiffen my white dress shirt, and my cousin and I played or watched TV, no longer annoyed by the din of never cooling afternoons.
On the way home from church one fifth Sunday, shirt outside my pants, my tie clipped on its wrinkling collar, I found a new small can of snuff, packed a chunk inside my cheek, and tripped from the musky sting making my head ache, giving me shivers knowing my aunt hid cigarettes in the drawer under her slips, that drawer the middle one on the left.


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