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...MEMORY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DOMEDAY BOOK: MIRIAM FAY'S LETTER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS DOMESDAY BOOK: MRS. MURRAY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS YOUNG SAMMY'S FIRST WILD OATS by GEORGE SANTAYANA THE SONG OF THE MAD WOMAN'S SON by KAREN SWENSON |