The Orange bears with soft friendly eyes

    Who played with me when I was ten，

    Christ， before I'd left home they'd had

    Their paws smashed in the rolls， their backs

    Seared by hot slag， their soft trusting

    Bellies kicked in， their tongues ripped

    Out， and I went down through the woods

    To the smelly crick with Whitman

    In the Haldeman-Julius edition，

    And I just sat there worrying my thumbnail

    Into the cover——What did he know about

    Orange bears with their coats all stunk up with soft coal

    And the National Guard coming over

    From Wheeling to stand in front of the millgates

    With drawn bayonets jeering at the strikers？

    I remember you would put daisies

    On the windowsill at night and in

    The morning they'd be so covered with soot

    You couldn't tell what they were anymore.

    A hell of a fat chance my orange bears had！