Workingmen believedHe busted trusts,And put his picture in their windows.“What he’d have done in France!”They said.Perhaps he would–He could have diedPerhaps,Though generals rarely die except in bed,As he did finally.And…
Half a million dead wopsAnd he got a kick out of itThe son of a bitch.
Drummed their boots on the camion floor,Hob-nailed boots on the camion floor.Sergeants stiff,Corporals sore.Lieutenant thought of a Mestre whore —Warm and soft and sleepy whore,Cozy, warm and lovely whore;Damned cold,…
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want him for long.
By A Foreigner I like Americans.They are so unlike Canadians.They do not take their policemen seriously.They come to Montreal to drink.Not to criticize.They claim they won the war.But they know…
Soldiers never do die well;Crosses mark the places —Wooden crosses where they fell,Stuck above their faces.Soldiers pitch and cough and twitch —All the world roars red and black;Soldiers smother in…
There are never any suicides in the quarter among people one knowsNo successful suicides.A Chinese boy kills himself and is dead.(they continue to place his mail in the letter rack…
A porcupine skin,Stiff with bad tanning,It must have ended somewhere.Stuffed horned owlPompousYellow eyed;Chuck-wills-widow on a biased twigSooted with dust.Piles of old magazines,Drawers of boy’s lettersAnd the line of loveThey must…