Frank Marshall Davis Poems >>
Gary Indiana

In Gary
The Mills
feast
on ore and men . . .


Like potbellied hoboes
the mills snore
lying face upward
on the north horizon
their breath
like winter exhalation
fogs redly
the night sky
capers madly
on a black stage
hoboes
their stomachs filled
with ore
and men
hoboes
yes
they'll hit the road tomorrow
if the food runs low


The mills are always hungry
what a beast
they make steel in their bellies
it's hard to tell
men from steel


To the south
the town
squats on sand-
a lanky woman
the steel mills'
concubine


A hundred thousand people
Europe in America
Africa in Indiana
an extension of Mexico
the Orient transplanted
another Babel
all different
all alike
steel faced men
iron featured women
and plenty of women
for the steel faced men


A mayor
yes
and a city council
and officials
and graft
sure
and banks
and stores
and places
they eat the crumbs
the hoboes drop
and grow potbellies


Suffering
now and then
in the town
in hoboes
get indigestion
now and then
and don't feast
on ore and men


Well
anyway
old judge Gary

Frank Marshall Davis