Depression Years

 

                         He hides beneath the table

                         from the predatory creditors

                         The mother has that haunted look

                         like the women

                         in the wagons of the prairies

                         gaunt  with burning eyes

                         of an old daguerreotype

 

                         They tell the story of gray faced men

                         who fall in battle

                         wounded on the sidelines

                         the matriarchy holds fast

                         propped up by an uncle

                         or an old friend from another country

 

                         Everything is left unsaid

                         the air is pregnant with whispers

                         trees  stooped and bare

                         let their leaves fall sickly  without hope

                         the hiss of the gas lit room

                         plays on city lights

                         in a cheap hotel

 

                         Bleached bones in emaciated frames

                         shuffle down narrow streets

                         puppet ghosts

                         controlled by invisible wires

 

 

 

                                                           Jack Mashman

                                                           Rev. 1995