Harold Arnett (by Edgar Lee Masters)
Harold Arnett
by Edgar Lee Masters
from Spoon River Anthology [1915]
I leaned against the mantel, sick, sick,
Thinking of my failure, looking into the abysm,
Weak from the noon-day heat.
A church bell sounded mournfully far away.
I heard the cry of a baby,
And the coughing of John Yarnell,
Bed-ridden, feverish, feverish, dying,
Then the violent voice of my wife:
"Watch out, the potatoes are burning!"
I smelled them . . . then there was irresistible disgust.
I pulled the trigger . . . blackness . . . light . . .
Unspeakable regret . . . fumbling for the world again.
Too late! Thus I came here,
With lungs for breathing . . . one cannot breathe here with lungs,
Though one must breathe. . . . Of what use is it
To rid one's self of the world,
When no soul may ever escape the eternal destiny of life?
Posted by Jesus Crisis at 12/2/2009 8:55 AM 
Categories: Masters (Edgar Lee),Poetry,1900s,American
Tags: Spoon River Anthology 1915 Edgar Lee Masters American Poetry American Literature
Categories: Masters (Edgar Lee),Poetry,1900s,American
Tags: Spoon River Anthology 1915 Edgar Lee Masters American Poetry American Literature
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