Self-deprecating and forthright, Randall McNair writes in a way that is endearing and comfortable.
“I don’t write with hope. I do it with pen and paper.” Randall McNair bares his wry soul in the sharp collection of poetry, Dispatches from the Swinging Door Saloon. The pages are filled with lamentations, porn stars, whiskey, frustration, inadequacy, beer, sex, not sex, bad breath, and even a pithy haiku. Topics are diverse, ranging from work and play to living and dying. Imagine a poem called Eating My Uncle’s Egg McMuffin Hours After He Died. It is everything that any irreverent soul could hope for!
Conventional, traditional and run-of the mill, this book is not! The dynamic poems highlight the irony of vain pursuits and the burdens of living while adding in just enough silliness and levity to balance out the overall tone. But make no mistake. This is more than just a collection of ramblings by an eccentric drunk. The poems, though generally brief, are meaningful and insightful. For example, Almost, But Not Quite begins, “The problem with perfection is that it’s almost harder to deconstruct or learn from than failure.”
Self-deprecating and forthright, Randall McNair writes in a way that is endearing and comfortable. If you feel like making a new friend, grab a beer and belly up to the bar with a copy of Dispatches from the Swinging Door Saloon.
