The Refugees in  General   

In the shabby train no seat is vacant.
The child in the ripped mask
Sprawls undisturbed in the waste
Of the smashed compartment. Is their calm extravagant?
They had faces and lives like you. What was it they possessed
That they were willing to trade for this?
The dried blood sparkles along the mask
Of the child who yesterday possessed
A country welcomer than this.
Did he? All night into the waste
The train moves silently. The faces are vacant.
Have none of them found the cost extravagant?
How could they? They gave what they possessed.
Here all the purses are vacant.
And what else could satisfy the extravagant
Tears and wish of the child but this?
Impose its canceling terrible mask
On the days and faces and lives they waste?
What else are their lives but a journey to the vacant
Satisfaction of death? And the mask
They wear tonight through their waste
Is death's rehearsal. Is it really extravagant
To read in their faces: What is there we possessed
That we were unwilling to trade for this?

By Randall Jarrell

Tell Your Friends About It | Print This Poem

Comments

You should be logged in to be able to leave comments

Other poems by Randall Jarrell:

• 90 North
• A Country Life
• A Sick Child
• Children Selecting Books In A Library
• Gunner
• Hope
• Losses
• Mail Call
• The Black Swan
• The Breath Of Night
• The Death Of The Ball Turret Gunner
• The Elementary Scene
• The House In The Woods
• The Olive Garden
• The Orient Express
• The Player Piano
• The Refugees
• The Woman At The Washington Zoo
• Well Water