More out of dearest duty now than joy
I sing the psalms of David on the train;
"Do not remember us when we were boys"--
What monstrous Arks we dance before again,
Crying, This false and cooling air will heal;
Crying, Here is the subway to the moon,
"As the hart does pant for living waters' feel"--
Our rush-hour hearts bleed even now at noon.
One of the tunnel children squirms and sequals,
Asking her mother do I read or pray;
Her answer lost amid the pins and wheels
Of station-lights. All out, all out, we say
And rush for asphalt pasture, Park St., Park.
Saul or David, hold us from the dark.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
by Leonard McCarthy, SJ