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"The Buick", or, "to my grandfather" (Free verse) by david
He sits in the chair, the
one that i hate. Smoking
his cigarette, he
seems to me like an idling
Buick.
He raised an enormous
hand to draw my
attention to his words, to
his witty snaps about
life, the chinese,
and how wild it was
during the war.
Back to poem details
| xxx | 68.166.37.185 | 0 | June 23, 2005 10:13 AM PDT |
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