Poem for April 6 (and 7)

I know, I know, I didn't post the poem for the sixth day of National Poetry Month on the actual sixth day. I also didn't publish a poem for days 1 through 3; so sue me.

Anyway, I will try to catch up today with a link to: The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot.

Like practically every other American high school student, I had to read Prufrock in English class. I can say with pride (?) that it was the first 'literary' poem that I actually liked. I tried to memorize it once. I didn't get very far, as it is quite long.

The above link has the poem as well as links to the relevant footnotes at the appropriate places.

Since I am playing catch-up and Prufrock is so long, I will give you a short poem for today, April 7. It is "Limited" by Carl Sandburg.

I don't remember where I first heard it, but I do remember that it struck me as sad and creepy and funny all at the same time. It still does.

Limited

I AM riding on a limited express, one of the crack trains of the nation.
Hurtling across the prairie into blue haze and dark air go fifteen all-steel coaches holding a thousand people.
(All the coaches shall be scrap and rust and all the men and women laughing in the diners and sleepers shall pass to ashes.)
I ask a man in the smoker where he is going and he answers: “Omaha.”