Poetry Archives

I sat with a dynamiter at supper in a German saloon
     eating steak and onions.
And he laughed and told stories of his wife and children
     and the cause of labor and the working class.
It was laughter of an unshakable man knowing life to be
     a rich and red-blooded thing.
Yes, his laugh rang like the call of gray birds filled with
     a glory of joy ramming their winged flight through
     a rain storm.
His name was in many newspapers as an enemy of the
     nation and few keepers of churches or schools would
     open their doors to him.
Over the steak and onions not a word was said of his
     deep days and nights as a dynamiter.
Only I always remember him as a lover of life, a lover
     of children, a lover of all free, reckless laughter
     everywhere—lover of red hearts and red blood the
     world over.