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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.
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I'm not one usually moved by poetry. But I remember not a "car", but a bus route in the 1950's -60's.
Bib overalls were not uncommon. The fragrance of the few remaining slaughterhouses. Just a memory. But a different one than most. It was normal. Thats what people did.
Bert Lile from United States