Poems of Charles Hice 

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 Fresh fish

Fresh fish
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They get it from the market with prices paid they wrap it in old newspaper to guard it from what flies and let it almost rot before they cook it in the grease of a low simmering fire and it always burns on one side and its never seldom done enough on the other side at least the places eye have been and the places eye have seen the men they carry fish that way the women just carry fish.
They have a different attitude of order.
Fish can be cleaned they take the head and off the fins they scrape the scales and turn the innards into meat.
A fish is food in many places just add beans and then its plenty a man takes his feet from under him somehow he has the strength left to love his woman anyhow.
Some add whiskey to the mix and then the fish they swim too fast in bellies stretched much too huge by all the drinks and all the beans. That is why a poor mans dwelling place just stinks.
Add the smoking if they smoke and add the left over aroma of the fish and then the beans see what eye mean its just decay it happens every day in some fine homes. The aroma of a poor man smells like bones.


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