Magazine | October 16, 2017, Issue

Poetry

M.A.C.

East Lansing, Michigan

On either side, the highway’s barren stretch

Is dwarfed by the wide wastes of prairie grass,

Its pale dry leaves weaved with dark heads of vetch

And clumps of sumac shimmering like glass.

To look on this, you’d think man had just come,

Bloomed with the Queen Anne’s lace, and will not last;

What little he set down as soon succumb

To stands of pine and maple or wind’s blast.

But, if you see the little streets built up

On ancient marsh, the pool hall and brick church,

Where we boys grew both conscious and corrupt

Dispelling boredom, entering on the search

For just what sort of men we should become,

You’ll see the place is thick with ghosts, is haunted

By faces kissed, pain felt, and words that drum

Through time, as we sought what it was we wanted.

In This Issue

Articles

Features

Books, Arts & Manners

Sections

Letters

Letters

Give Me Your Poesy I very much enjoyed Kevin D. Williamson’s essay on Emma Lazarus (“Wretched Refuse, Indeed,” August 28) and the way in which her famous poem, which had several ...
The Week

The Week

‐ Some stood, some knelt, all winced. ‐ President Trump’s speech to the U.N. General Assembly was a combination of idealism and blunt talk. Most striking was his ode to national ...
Athwart

Take a Small Knee

The National Anthem protests that have taken place around the country could be just the beginning of a backlash against the 'evil' heterosexual white man.
Poetry

Poetry

M.A.C. East Lansing, Michigan On either side, the highway’s barren stretch Is dwarfed by the wide wastes of prairie grass, Its pale dry leaves weaved with dark heads of vetch And clumps of sumac shimmering ...

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