Sandhog for Paul Rohan Old scrapper, skin for gloves, calloused knuckles, broken nose that made your face fit your voice: Brooklynese classic-poet-quoting boxer belying your fourth-grade education— Milton, Chaucer, The Bard in the corner of your kitchen, your son rolling his eyes, thirsty for a cold one, itching to leave the house paid for…
Sandhog by Thomas Locicero
