English poem
Ii
by Lola Ridge (1873–1941)
A uniformed front, Paunched; A glance like a blow, The swing of an arm, Verved, vigorous; Boot-heels clanking In metallic rhythm; The blows of a baton, Quick, staccato...
--There is a rustling along the benches As of dried leaves raked over... And the old man lifts a shaking palsied hand, Tucking the displaced paper about his knees.
Colder... And a frost under foot, Acid, corroding, Eating through worn bootsoles.
Drab forms blur into greenish vapor. Through boughs like cross-bones, Pale arcs flare and shiver Like lilies in a wind.
High over Broadway A far-flung sign Glitters in indigo darkness And spurts again rhythmically, Spraying great drops Red as a hemorrhage.