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A Filthy Young Pig

Have you ever felt like the whole world was against you?  One of those dreary days when you should just buy a bottle of Scotch and camp under a bridge for a while? 

It’s been cold and raining non-stop since Wednesday and the hygrometer reads 47%, which to a Colorado native like me can be suffocating.  A friend called me from town to read some of the lies that hired thugs are writing about me in the local papers regarding this lawsuit going on. Feeling sad and hungry, I went to the Tavern but there were a million strange faces as it is peak tourist season in Aspen despite the pouring rain.  A plump woman from Dallas was pushing her way through the crowd spilling drinks off trays, adding to the slug and gloom.   Turning away, I walked next door to my office and sat, cold and hungry at my desk.  My wet hair was dripping down my face and in my eyes, blurring my vision and running down my cheeks. Confused, broke and lonely.  It was pitiful.

 Then I saw, as it were, a white horse…And his name was Hunter!!  Well it was actually a white page, with black ink. I had opened my paperback copy of Kingdom of Fear to page 301. And Behold, our friend FX Leach. This is just one of the poems that Hunter wrote under that name.  Most are unpublished, but one day, you will read them all.   So, I read this one titled I Told Him It Was Wrong.  And it worked like a charm!  I am a happy Buddha now:

A filthy young pig
got tired of his gig
and begged for a transfer
To Texas.
Police ran him down
on the outskirts of town
and ripped off his Nuts
with a coat hanger.
Everything after that was like
coming home
in a cage on the
back of a train from
New Orleans on a Saturday Night
with no money and cancer and
a dead girlfriend.
In the end it was no use
He died on his knees in a barnyard
with all the others watching.
Res Ipsa Loquitor
– FX  LEACH Omaha, 1968

Okay! Until next time, your friend in the rain,

Anita Thompson
Woody Creek

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