IN A COFFEE POT
His eyes are filled with my own pain
His life like mine is thrown away.
Big Jorgensen the honest, blonde, six feet,
And Daniels, cunning, sly,-all, all-
You'll find them reading Sunday's want ad sheet.
Our old man didnt know someone
Our mother gave no soci al teas
You'll find us any morning now
Sitting in the agencies.
You'll find us there before the office opens
Crowding the vestibule before the day begins
The secretary yawns from last night's date
The elevator boy's black face looks out and grins.
We push we crack our bitter jokes we wait
These mornings l!lways find us waiting there
Each one of us has shined his broken shoes
Has brushed his coat and combed his careful hair
Dance hall boys pool parlor kids wise guys
The earnest son the college grad all, all
Each hides the question twitching in his eyes
And smokes and spits and leans against the wall.
We meet each other sometimes on the street
Sixth Avenue's high L bursts overhead
Freak shows whore gypsies hotdog stands
Cajole our penniless eyes our bankrupt hands.
"Working yet?" "The job ;lint come
Got promised but a runaround."
The L shakes building store and ground
"What's become of Harry? and what's become
Of Charley? Martinelli? Brooklyn Jones?"
"He's married-got a kid-and broke."
And Charley's on Blackwell's, Martinelli's through–
Met him in Grand Central-he's on the bum-
We're all of us on the bum-"
A freak show midget's pounding on a drum
The high L thunders redflag auctioneers
13
