On Relief

Our glances met as glances meet
And sharp as salt was my surprise,
I saw as I went down the street
A man with want-ads in his eyes.

For Sale he offered to my sight
Without the usual signboard’s flash
A man’s bewilderment and fright
Can mark down cheap when prices crash . . .

The factory quiet as a rock
And all around the heavy smell
Of men locked out as surplus stock—
His eyes like posters told it well.

And though his gestures still were staunch
With every glance his eyes returned
A man with no more ships to launch
With no more bridges to be burned.