Poetry Archives

          Come you, cartoonists,
          Hang on a strap with me here
          At seven o’clock in the morning
          On a Halsted street car.

               Take your pencils
               And draw these faces.

Try with your pencils for these crooked faces,
That pig-sticker in one corner—his mouth—
That overall factory girl—her loose cheeks.

               Find for your pencils
               A way to mark your memory
               Of tired empty faces.

               After their night’s sleep,
               In the moist dawn
               And cool daybreak,
               Faces
               Tired of wishes,
               Empty of dreams.