Morrow Anthology

How young they look in those gray pictures,
Their unwashed hair brushing wide shoulders
And checkered sleeves
Cuffed and crossed,
Or hanging loose,
Or loose enough.

How confident they looked back then,
So sure that the years were theirs,
That words were just a simple thing
Like grass
Walked through in dungarees.

How few busts one sees
Of statesmen toothless old
And creased,

Or even young
But looking low,
Uncertain of what comes next and when,
But mostly if,
And mostly when.