I will grieve alone, <br />As I strolled alone, years ago, down along <br />The Ohio shore. <br />I hid in the hobo jungle weeds <br />Upstream from the sewer main, <br />Pondering, gazing. <br /> <br />I saw, down river, <br />At Twenty-third and Water Streets <br />By the vinegar works, <br />The doors open in early evening. <br />Swinging their purses, the women <br />Poured down the long street to the river <br />And into the river. <br /> <br />I do not know how it was <br />They could drown every evening. <br />What time near dawn did they climb up the other shore, <br />Drying their wings? <br /> <br />For the river at Wheeling, West Virginia, <br />Has only two shores: <br />The one in hell, the other <br />In Bridgeport, Ohio. <br /> <br />And nobody would commit suicide, only <br />To find beyond death <br />Bridgeport, Ohio.<br /><br />James Arlington Wright<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-response-to-a-rumor-that-the-oldest-whorehous/
