In The Smoking Car
The eyelids meet. He'll catch a little nap.
The grizzled, crew-cut head drops to his chest.
It shakes above the briefcase on his lap.
Close voices breathe, "Poor sweet, he did his best."
Halsted Street Car
Come you, cartoonists,
Hang on a strap with me here
At seven o’clock in the morning
On a Halsted street car.
The Lay Of The Motor-Car
We're away! and the wind whistles shrewd
In our whiskers and teeth;
And the granite-like grey of the road
Seems to slide underneath.
Buying A Car
I wanted a car when I wearied of walking.
With savings in hand, I left home to peruse.
The dealer was helpful, bright-eyed and fast-talking.
He offered two models from which I could choose.
A Crowded Trolley-Car
The rain's cold grains are silver-gray
Sharp as golden sands,
A bell is clanging, people sway
Hanging by their hands.