He wrote about recovery. He wrote about how easily he found himself crying lately. He leaned against the pool table and held the mic loosely, speaking in a calm, unhurried tone while red-faced opponents 40 years younger pounded chests and rhyme patterns.
He was the opposite of a showboat or a blowhard. He spoke and wrote with profound carefulness and consideration, and an uncanny ability to get directly at the heart of things.
from The Phoenix: In Memoriam: On the death of Jack McCarthy, a working-class poet
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