In New York, bus drivers are the only happy men. They can close doors on people with impunity, even as it rains, and drive off. Nobody objects, newspapers set before their faces in their seats, reading in their spare time of worse news yet. In New York, when you say Please, persons are suspicious that you intend to rob them or they answer politely as if to let you know they'd rather rob you first. In New York, to enjoy yourself, you must first beat yourself on the head with a cop's club. Reeling over the streets, leer at the dance hall photos of girls undressed, for the rent in a silent room above a flashing neon that reads Drink Blotto! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONG FOR A VIOLA D'AMORE by AMY LOWELL I LOOK IN MY HEART by SARA TEASDALE IN JANUARY by GORDON BOTTOMLEY THE DEPARTURE OF THE SWALLOW by WILLIAM HOWITT THE FISH, THE MAN, AND THE SPIRIT (COMPLETE) by JAMES HENRY LEIGH HUNT THE SHADOW DANCE by LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON THE DOOMED MAN by JOSEPH ADDISON ALEXANDER THE ARGONAUTS (ARGONATUICA): MEDEA'S DREAM by APOLLONIUS RHODIUS |