WHY was I not devoured by self-contempt, And rotted down by indifference And impotent revolt like Indignation Jones? Why, with all of my errant steps, Did I miss the fate of Willard Fluke? And why, though I stood at Burchard's bar, As a sort of decoy for the house to the boys To buy the drinks, did the curse of drink Fall on me like rain that runs off, Leaving the soul of me dry and clean? And why did I never kill a man Like Jack McGuire? But instead I mounted a little in life, And I owe it all to a book I read. But why did I go to Mason City, Where I chanced to see the book in a window, With its garish cover luring my eye? And why did my soul respond to the book, As I read it over and over? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MOTHER NIGHT by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON MEMORY by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH FABLE: THE MOUNTAIN AND THE SQUIRREL by RALPH WALDO EMERSON THE FAIRY THORN; AN ULSTER BALLAD by SAMUEL FERGUSON THE HOMES OF ENGLAND by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS THE WHITE HOUSE by CLAUDE MCKAY EPISTLES ON THE CHARACTER AND CONDITION OF WOMEN: 1 by LUCY AIKEN |