LEARNING THE WAYS OF TALK
The streetsides empty out, to where the
coal cars dwell. Small men in flannels,
with shovels and pick-axes pass. I never
know what anyone is doing. There's a
diner by the siding where seven people
sit; I'm counting the heads I see.
-
I wonder about the men I am watching;
where do they live and how they have
come to be here? Do they each have cars
and houses, or do they live together
in some railroad-hovel rooming house?
How long does their workday last, and
of what order is their pay? They almost
seem like prisoners on a work-crew.
-
And then, like the fool, I start to thinking -
if they told me these things I'd not believe
them anyway. I'm too much the suspicious
kind for that : taking other men's words
at face value. No thanks, thank you.
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