A Teamsters Farewell
Sobs En Route to a Penitentiary
GOOD-BY now to the streets and the clash of wheels and
The sun coming on the brass buckles and harness knobs.
The muscles of the horses sliding under their heavy
Good-by now to the traffic policeman and his whistle,
The smash of the iron hoof on the stones,
All the crazy wonderful slamming roar of the street--
O God, there's noises I'm going to be hungry for.
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