At A Bar In Newport Poem by Dean Hall
At A Bar In Newport
Wondering how dull a blade can get
before it is no blade at all
dulled from sticking sand
from trying to scrape death signs from dead walls
from opening and closing for no reason.
She said, "I love it."
I said, "What is it that you love? "
She said, "The first ice cube of the day I get to chew."
I wonder
how dull a blade can get
before it is no blade at all.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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3/13/2026 4:20:56 AM # 1.0.0
