Boise Idaho Old women stand crooked in pastel kitchens Gossiping and burning pies too sweet for their dentures to chew Half - hidden children play adult games in fields Crunching through dry corn husks Peering eyes glance menacingly directly at them from scarecrows posted like sentinels in rows upon stalks Blind aging men spit and argue listening to a radio unevenly leaned up against a rocking chair leg Soft - dry - voiceless music struggles from its speakers Another day passes monotonously as the last struggling fingers sink below the horizon's edge and the sun drowns in darkness
Daniel Phelps' Questions:
I have never actually been to Idaho but the feeling I got while writing this piece made me think of Boise. Does this imagery lead you to a place that seems to be remote and calm like that of a small town?
I have been told that I should change the order of the stanzas. Does that make sense and if so, why?
Is the poem long enough as is? Do you get the image I am attempting to create, or should I try and add more?