Page:Slabs of the sunburnt West.djvu/24

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10
The Windy City
And the footsteps of the jungle,The fang cry, the rip claw hiss,The sneak-up and the still watch,The slant of the slit eyes waiting—If these bother respectable people with the right crimp in their napkins reading breakfast menu cards— forgive us—let it pass—let be.
If cripples sit on their stumpsAnd joke with the newsies bawling,"Many lives lost! many lives lost!Ter-ri-ble ac-ci-dent! many lives lost!"—If again twelve men let a woman go,"He done me wrong; I shot him"—Or the blood of a child's headSpatters on the hub of a motor truck—Or a 44-gat cracks and lets the skylightsInto one more bank messenger—Or if boys steal coal in a railroad yardAnd run with humped gunny sacksWhile a bull picks off one of the kidsAnd the kid wriggles with an ear in cindersAnd a mother comes to carry homeA bundle, a limp bundle,To have his face washed, for the last time,Forgive us if it happens—and happens again—And happens again.
 Forgive the jazz timebeat of clumsy mass shadows,
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