In the town's vast smoky heart

A new gray day is born.

Morose shadows spread

Around steel skyscrapers.

Fog strolls calmly through the darkness.

On State Street, thronged by day,

The seething life is still asleep.

Rails on countless roads

Rhythmically squeak and hum.

Factory whistles shriek.

Life begins to be heard,

Risen from sleep, an onrushing storm.

Once more the mighty wave

Of workers is moving.

The streams of noisy streets

Foam with swarms of people.

Death every day here waits

To end short lives with doom.

Some grasp wealth.

2

Others strive to cheat hunger,

And others still worship idleness,

Hooking some fish in the depths of sleepy pools.

All we are slaves of Mammon.

Our common device is the dollar,

And seeking it we perish.

Rejoice, man, cry and pray.

I. Churinov

Chicago

Editor's Note: This poem was written by a fifty-five year old worker.