Pretend I’m sitting in a quiet American bar, in Texas, looking over grass plains. I’m talking with a local, a long conversation, strangers who love poetry. He’s telling me these beautiful stories, his love for his woman, how they dreamt, how they argued, how they split.
If only. I’m really in a parochial little English town, watching the sky dream of rain from inside an English pub, reading “Last Chap” by Jonathan Penton. This is a lovely little collection, nicely produced, an A6–ish chapbook of strong conversation, very much American poetry.
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