You might call this The far side of the river If you ever lived in Indiana, Ohio, Illinois. There is no city On the river's far side, Just middling towns as similar As printed roses on a widow's dress -- Perhaps you knew her. She never moved away. Nor are the old men On the courthouse lawns in any of these towns Any less like flowers Since they rise at first light And dress alike in overalls, Gray shirts and caps, As if they still had something To do. They have less to do Than flowers. They gather at the courthouse From first light to last. They chew their Mammoth Cave, Their Copenhagen. They comment on the height of the river. They're too far gone to give a damn About women anymore. Tobacco stains bloom on the walk. And now these men seem more to me Like harmless old bees Gathering the sweetness of the last, thin light On the only side of the river they know. Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P.O. Box 271, Port Townsend, WA 98368-0271, www.cc.press.org | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LAMP OF LIFE by AMY LOWELL IS YOUR TOWN NINEVEH? by MARIANNE MOORE THE SEA-GRAVE by SARA TEASDALE A BABY ASLEEP AFTER PAIN by DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE ODE IN MEMORY OF THE AMERICAN VOLUNTEERS FALLEN FOR FRANCE by ALAN SEEGER THE FOOL'S ADVENTURE by LASCELLES ABERCROMBIE THE ROCK OF LIBERTY; A PILGRIM ODE, 1620-1920: 3. ACHIEVEMENT by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN |