Six long hours in Los Angeles! oh, my God!
What have I done that this should come to me,
Or I to this?     What black iniquity
Sits on my soul, as heavy as a hod?
In depths of triple darkness have I trod,
But did not know abysms like this could be,
Horror on horror piled illimitably.
Thy glory is departed Ichabod.

And what shall it avail me now I pray
That once I strove with beasts in Omaha,
Billings, Mobile, Detroit, et cetera?
All is around me confusion and a blur.
I hear thy liquid accents, loway,
And see such blondes as gentlemen prefer.

From Guinea-Fowl and Other Poultry (Harper & Brothers, 1927) by Leonard Bacon. Copyright © 1927 by Harper & Brothers. This poem is in the public domain.