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‘To a Contemporary Bunkshooter’ Chicago Poems n.p.: You come along squirting words at us [...] always blabbing we’re all going to hell straight off and you know all about it.at blab, v.
‘To a Contemporary Bunkshooter’ Chicago Poems n.p.: You come along squirting words at us [...] always blabbing we’re all going to hell straight off and you know all about it. ‘To a Contemporary Bunkshooter’ Chicago Poems (1994) 28: You slimy bunkshooter, you put a smut on every human blossom in reach of your rotten breath belching about hell-fire.at bunkshooter (n.) under bunk, n.2
‘To a Contemporary Bunkshooter’ Chicago Poems (2004) 29: I’m telling you Jesus wouldn’t stand for the stuff you’re handing out.at hand out, v.
‘To a Contemporary Bunkshooter’ in Chicago Poems 61: Higher-ups among the con men of Jerusalem.at higher-up, n.
‘The Right to Grief’ Chicago Poems I shall cry over the dead child of a stockyards hunky. / His job is sweeping blood off the floor.at hunky, n.
‘Iron’ Chicago Poems 88: Straight, shining, polished guns, / Clambered over with jackies in white blouses, / Glory of tan faces, tousled hair, white teeth, / Laughing lithe jackies in white blouses.at jack, n.5
‘Muckers’ Chicago Poems 21: Twenty men stand watching the muckers. / Stabbing the sides of the ditch.at mucker, n.1
‘Bronzes’ Chicago Poems 25: His bronze forehead meeting soft echoes of the newsies crying forty thousand men are dead along the Yser.at newsie, n.
‘The Has-Been’ Chicago Poems 18: A boy passes and throws a niggerhead that chips off the end of the nose from the stone face.at niggerhead, n.1
‘To a Contemporary Bunkshooter’ Chicago Poems 28: You don’t throw any scare into me. I’ve got your number. I know how much you know about Jesus.at have someone’s number (v.) under number, n.
‘Halstead Street Car’ Chicago Poems 4: Try with your pencils for these crooked faces, / That pig-sticker in one corner—his mouth— / That overall factory girl—her loose cheeks.at pigsticker, n.
‘Fellow Citizens’ Chicago Poems 21: The way he lighted a three-for-a-nickel stogie and cocked it at an angle regardless of the manners of our best people.at stogie, n.
‘Anna Imroth’ Chicago Poems 85: Cross the hands over the breast here — so. / Straighten the legs a little more — so. / And call for the wagon to come and take her home.at wagon, n.
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