Prose from the Pros #9: M is for Monroe
burnhamplan100.uchicago.edu On the Train By Harriet Monroe I THE lady in front of me in the car, With little red coils close over her ears, Is talking with her friend; And the circle of ostrich foam around her hat, Curving over like a wave, Trembles with her little windy words. What she is saying, I wonder, That her feathers should tremble And the soft fur of her coat should slip down over her shoulders? Has her string of pearls been stolen, Or maybe her husband? II He is drunk, that man -- Drunk as a lord, a lord of the bibulous past. [sic] He shouts wittily from his end of the car to the man in the corner; He bows to me with chivalrous apologies. He philosophizes, plays with the wisdom of the ages, Flings off his rags, Displays his naked soul -- Athletic, beautiful, grotesque. In the good time ...