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Home  »  Poetry: A Magazine of Verse  »  David Morton

Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

The Convict

David Morton

THIS then was the wage of hate:

Making shoes for men to wear—

Men still free to walk or wait

In the sun and air.

It was hate that sent him here:

Words … a knife … a heavy form …

Sudden silence …. and a fear

At something wet and warm.

That was all so far away—

Strange to think that he could feel

Fear or lust or hate that day!

Only shoes were real.