The Orange bears with soft friendly eyes Who played with me when I was ten, Christ, before I'd left home they'd had Their paws smashed in the rolls, their backs Seared by hot slag, their soft trusting Bellies kicked in, their tongues ripped Out, and I went down through the woods To the smelly crick with Whitman In the Haldeman-Julius edition, And I just sat there worrying my thumbnail Into the cover---What did he know about Orange bears with their coats all stunk up with soft coal And the National Guard coming over From Wheeling to stand in front of the millgates With drawn bayonets jeering at the strikers? I remember you would put daisies On the windowsill at night and in The morning they'd be so covered with soot You couldn't tell what they were anymore. A hell of a fat chance my orange bears had!
Kenneth Patchen - 1911-1972
There's a place the man always say Come in here, child No cause you should weep Wolf never catch such a rabbit Golden hair never turn white with grief Come in here, child No cause you should moan Brother never hurt his brother Nobody here ever wander without a home There must be some such place somewhere But I never heard of it