Ralph RhodesAll they said was true:I wrecked my father’s bank with my loansTo dabble in wheat; but this was true—I was buying wheat for him as well,Who couldn’t margin the deal in his nameBecause of his church relationship.And while George Reece was serving his termI chased the will-o-the-wisp of womenAnd the mockery of wine in New York.It’s deathly to sicken of wine and womenWhen nothing else is left in life.But suppose your head is gray, and bowedOn a table covered with acrid stubsOf cigarettes and empty glasses,And a knock is heard, and you know it’s the knockSo long drowned out by popping corksAnd the pea-cock screams of demireps—And you look up, and there’s your Theft,Who waited until your head was gray,And your heart skipped beats to say to you:The game is ended. I’ve called for you,Go out on Broadway and be run over,They’ll ship you back to Spoon River.
All they said was true:I wrecked my father’s bank with my loansTo dabble in wheat; but this was true—I was buying wheat for him as well,Who couldn’t margin the deal in his nameBecause of his church relationship.And while George Reece was serving his termI chased the will-o-the-wisp of womenAnd the mockery of wine in New York.It’s deathly to sicken of wine and womenWhen nothing else is left in life.But suppose your head is gray, and bowedOn a table covered with acrid stubsOf cigarettes and empty glasses,And a knock is heard, and you know it’s the knockSo long drowned out by popping corksAnd the pea-cock screams of demireps—And you look up, and there’s your Theft,Who waited until your head was gray,And your heart skipped beats to say to you:The game is ended. I’ve called for you,Go out on Broadway and be run over,They’ll ship you back to Spoon River.