Eastanalle was short of men like him, thank God. He did not live beyond the white cliff for nothing. It was dangerous to walk there, because he lay On his bed and shot with small direction at the sky. Being with narrow plateau circumscribed, Wind-limited only, he found the east, the south, The west, the north, a beautiful blue target. He practiced long. He had a rifle, it was declared. He shot the curly knots out of the ceiling, Out of the walls, and then shot through the holes, Lying toes-up the total length of summer. He had a pistol, it was declared more than once, not a rifle. It was dangerous to walk there. No one did. Until the shots ceased for a week and over. Then the posse, circling the white plateau, Came to the sieved room freckled with sun. http://www.wlu.edu/~shenano | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THEN AND NOW by CECIL DAY LEWIS BOOTH'S PHILIPPI by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: PAULINE BARRETT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: PENNIWIT, THE ARTIST by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE ROOM OF MIRRORS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE SPARROW HARK IN THE RAIN (ALEXANDER STEPHENS HEARS NEWS) by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |