Page:Slabs of the sunburnt West.djvu/17

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The Windy City

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The lean hands of wagon menput out pointing fingers here,picked this crossway, put it on a map,set up their sawbucks, fixed their shotguns,found a hitching place for the pony express,made a hitching place for the iron horse,the one-eyed horse with the fire-spit head,found a homelike spot and said, "Make a home,"saw this corner with a mesh of rails, shuttling people, shunting cars, shaping the junk of the earth to a new city.
The hands of men took hold and tuggedAnd the breaths of men went into the junkAnd the junk stood up into skyscrapers and asked:Who am I? Am I a city? And if I am what is my name? And once while the time whistles blew and blew againThe men answered: Long ago we gave you a name.Long ago we laughed and said: You? Your name is Chicago.
Early the red men gave a name to a river, the place of the skunk, the river of the wild onion smell, Shee-caw-go.

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