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.
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.