HALSTED STREET CAR

COME you, cartoonists,
Hang on a strap with me here
At seven o'clock in the morning
On a Halsted street car.

Take your pencils
And draw these faces.

Try with your pencils for these crooked faces,
That pig-sticker in one corner--his mouth--
That overall factory girl--her loose cheeks.

Find for your pencils
A way to mark your memory
Of tired empty faces.

After their night's sleep,
In the moist dawn
And cool daybreak,
Faces
Tired of wishes,
Empty of dreams.

More poems by Carl Sandburg

CHILD MOON

THE child's wonder / At the old moon

Carl Sandburg

KILLERS

I AM singing to you / Soft as a man with a dead child speaks;

Carl Sandburg

WHO AM I

MY head knocks against the stars. / My feet are on the hilltops.

Carl Sandburg

JOY

LET a joy keep you. / Reach out your hands

Carl Sandburg

All poems by Carl Sandburg →