Writing the obit yesterday for Texas sharpshooter Joe Bowman, who could hit a playing card edgewise at 20 paces and plug a 50-cent piece three times in one five-thousandth of a second, reminded me immediately of the wonderfully idiosyncratic poem by e e cummings about one of Bowman's idols. Here's the poem (minus the weird line spacing cummings came up with):
who used to
ride a watersmooth-silver
and break onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat
he was a handsome man
and what I want to know is
how do you like your blueeyed boy
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