subway wind

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Subway Wind
Claude McKay

Far down, down through the city’s great gaunt gut
      The gray train rushing bears the weary wind;
In the packed cars the fans the crowd’s breath cut,
      Leaving the sick and heavy air behind.
And pale-cheeked children seek the upper door
      To give their summer jackets to the breeze;
Their laugh is swallowed in the deafening roar
      Of captive wind that moans for fields and seas;
Seas cooling warm where native schooners drift
      Through sleepy waters, while gulls wheel and sweep,
Waiting for windy waves the keels to lift
      Lightly among the islands of the deep;
Islands of lofty palm trees blooming white
      That led their perfume to the tropic sea,
Where fields lie idle in the dew-drenched night,
      And the Trades float above them fresh and free.

 

Photo by Patrick Fore on Unsplash

accounts receivable

Standard

Poem
Alan Dugan

The person who can do
accounts receivable as fast
as steel machines and out-
talk telephones, has wiped
her business lipstick off,
undone her girdle and belts,
and stepped down sighing from
the black quoins of her heels
to be the quiet smiler with
changed eyes. After long-
haired women have unwired
their pencil-pierced buns, it’s an
event with pennants when
the Great Falls of emotion say
that beauty is in residence,
grand in her hotel of flesh,
and Venus of the marriage manual,
haloed by a diaphragm,
steps from the shell Mercenairia
to her constitutional majesty
in the red world of love.
Photo by StellrWeb on Unsplash