Today’s poet, though puzzled, is not a man to be trifled with. He’s had many roles and many faces, all of them involving being handy with his fists, and most being handier with a gun. From those lonely days wandering the West surviving on the respect of the men he gunned down, to more recently, where he was found coming to the aid of his young neighbours when a gang tried to rope a poor boy into being a drug mule, though he’d much rather be sat on his porch with a beer admiring his Gran Torino. We asked him if he felt lucky. Well, do you think he did, punk? Continue reading “Poet Puzzlers – Clint Wastling” →