Bo McGuire hails from Hokes Bluff, Alabama, birthplace of John Wisdom, the Paul Revere of the South. You can find his work in Forklift, Ohio, Court Green, MiPOesias, Diagram and The Pinch.
Natasha Stagg: What are you up to lately?
Bo McGuire: Here lately, I’ve been getting by with a little help from my friends, traveling a fucked-up, glorious triangle from Tucson to Alabama to Denver to Tucson. I’ve been working on something like a novel called The Adventures of Turd and Biscuit. Turd talks to spirits through a jukebox and Biscuit is the muscle—emotionally and physically.
I tried to get a job with Dolly Parton, but I’m still waiting on her to telephone. Then I thought about getting a real job, but thought better of it. Yesterday, I wrote the first poem I’ve written since I left Tucson. It goes like this:
What I Feel About Munroe Louisiana
It is bad luck to reach for a hand across barbed wire
It is worse luck to sing your lover country songs
My daddy’s boy-nerves, he ate at them every chance not wasted
Never in my life have I written a poem about my daddy or love
of moon. I have tried. It has always been bad luck, I have been taught restraint
is best, but have learned otherwise. Let’s dress in uniform. In this photograph
we are taking, two men are dressed. One of them does not stand at attention.
NS: Awesome! So, how long are you in Tucson?
BMcG: I live in Tucson like everywhere else—temporarily and indefinitely. I didn’t realize I had missed it until I got off the plane.
NS: What are you reading?
NS: Suggest something to do in Tucson.
BMcG: Stick a wish into the wall at El Tiradito, the Wishing Shrine.
NS: Suggest something to read.