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I went into the Maverick Bar
In Farmington, New Mexico.
And drank double shots of bourbon
                        backed with beer.
My long hair was tucked up under a cap
I’d left the earring in the car.
 
Two cowboys did horseplay
                        by the pool tables,
A waitress asked us
                        where are you from?
a country-and-western band began to play
“We don’t smoke Marijuana in Muskokie”
And with the next song,
                        a couple began to dance.
 
They held each other like in High School dances
                        in the fifties;
I recalled when I worked in the woods
                        and the bars of Madras, Oregon.
That short-haired joy and roughness—
                        America—your stupidity.
I could almost love you again.
 
We left—onto the freeway shoulders—
                        under the tough old stars—
In the shadow of bluffs
                        I came back to myself,
To the real work, to
                        “What is to be done.”
Other works by Gary Snyder ...



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