Donald Chance

Donald Chance Poems

The truck bed stacked with long curved things—
scythes, as I recall.
Not real important,
I only wanted off my feet.
...

In the distance shining, attracting,
eyes strain to focus—slowly it draws near.
One by one they view,
message not understood,
...

You spent a trillion dollars
to create a blade of grass
And you, and you have the nerve
to recoil at the very thought
...

Donald Chance Biography

DW Chance writes modern Beat-influenced free verse shaped by lived experience rather than theory. Marked early by loss and a nomadic military upbringing, he served in Vietnam and returned to a life that demanded rebuilding. Turning fully to poetry later in life, Chance has developed a poetic voice rooted in Beat tradition yet unmistakably his own.)

The Best Poem Of Donald Chance

Demon Lift

The truck bed stacked with long curved things—
scythes, as I recall.
Not real important,
I only wanted off my feet.
Conversation thin,
the driver's grin carved tight,
never quite touching his eyes.
The smell—
rot and iron,
like spoiled meat mixed with rust—
dragged me back to dorm rooms
where something always seemed to die.
I said, any spot will do,
no need to go out of your way.
But he pressed harder on the gas,
speed swelling at every curve,
the wheel jerking like a beast
barely chained.
These old trucks—
built solid once,
but this one rattled
like loose bones in a coffin.
Even the bolts seemed to scream.
Then—sudden stop.
A silence thick as smoke.
Maybe I said the wrong thing.
Oh… okay. This deserted corner is fine.
I forced thanks through my teeth,
promised maybe we'd meet again—
though not too soon.
He—or it—roared off in a blaze,
headlights cutting red in the dark.
I stood,
sweat cold on my neck,
alone but grinning—
damn glad to walk
the next six miles home.

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