The PoorAuthor(s): William Carlos WilliamsSource: Poetry, Vol. 13, No. 6 (Mar., 1919), p. 301Published by: Poetry FoundationStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20572022 .

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William Carlos Williams

In Doc Hollister's barn to prove you could beat The faker in the circus-and it didn't choke you. Now your face is in your hands, and your elbows Are on your knees, and you are silent and broken.

COMPLETE DESTRUCTION

It was an icy day. We buried the cat, Then took her box

And set match to it In the back yard. Those fleas that escaped Earth and fire Died bv the cold.

THE POOR

By constantly tormenting them With reminders of the lice in Their children's hair, the School physician first Brought their hatred down on him. But by this familiarity They grew used to him, and so, At last, Took him for their friend and adviser.

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