43 
—That moment I could have hewn my right hand off 
And cast it into the flame, knowing you would urge 
His friend!— 
Bah, your man’s a superb jackal. 
I’ll chant no more this evening. I’ll be off! 
I can go now. Tis no pose in me. I know my sex 
I know the way to my home unaided 
And the stairs leading to tomorrow morning 
I love the flatulent ’bus shaking quailing 
And roaring beneath my soles. I am a man 
Fit to move with you anywhere; begin a new tale 
Forget you; renew a friendship; awake grinning. 
I love the walk I love the dance I love the trot 
It was not only for words that hang large above a street 
“Tone clusters” and all the delicate and strong stuff 
I was made rather to give a command clearly 
To order a massacre of old men and maids 
To direct naval manoeuvers determine sagely 
When to retreat when to turn in advance 
To give out civil laws to hear testimonials 
Receive tithes and genuflections despatch criminals. 
Here are implements, wheels, a bench at a window 
But oh God, no hands, no eyes, what men! 
Gan you work quietly here while I am far away, 
Imagining I watch outside as from a window? 
As the hour grows later I grow greater and greater 
She the last woman with the grand manner is weary 
While I have the walk the dance the trot 
This scored film of mud my boot stirs. 
MATTHEW JO8EPH8ON 
THE SUBWAY 
I N THE year 1921, it is reported that 639385780 passengers 
of both sexes rode on the New York Subways. Although 
this figure does not include dead persons, babes in arms, or 
public servants of the metropolis (all of whom may ride to 
and fro on the subway without expense to themselves) the 
figure as it stands is certainly impressive. For if the grand total