“He aren’t one-a-them homasoxuals, th’po’try’s
just a hobby,” Dad rushed to assure th’Maine folk
leaving him out of his heart
in the cold of his fidgety disgrace.
Presume dad was mortified because he wasn’t
discussing my crushing shoulder bones
on a football field, bouncing balls in a track
suit or digging spikes into somebody’s ankle,
all the pursuits for your son if it wasn’t
hunting season when a’course any real boy’d
wanta be out wind blown rosy checked blowin’
birds apart or bringin’ down a deer just
because it was November when you bring deer down,
certainly not for need of meat.’’

— From “Crossing America,’’ by Leo Connellan (1928-2001), who was born in Portland, Maine, and raised in Rockland in that state. (This inspired his poems about fishermen and other coastal topics.)

Considered one of the “Beat” poets, he spent the last part of his life as a resident of the small town of Sprague, Conn. He was the Nutmeg State’s poet laureate from 1996 to his death. He made his living as a salesman. “Crossing America’’ was inspired by his trips across the country, east to west and north to south.