In Response to a Rumor That the Oldest Whorehouse in Wheeling, West Virginia Has Been Condemned

I will grieve alone,

As I strolled alone, years ago, down along

The Ohio shore.

I hid in the hobo jungle weeds

Upstream from the sewer main,

Pondering, gazing.

I saw, down river,

At Twenty-third and Water Streets

By the vinegar works,

The doors open in early evening.

Swinging their purses, the women

Poured down the long street to the river

And into the river.

I do not know how it was

They could drown every evening.

What time near dawn did they climb up the other shore,

Drying their wings?

For the river at Wheeling, West Virginia,

Has only two shores:

The one in hell, the other

In Bridgeport, Ohio.

And nobody would commit suicide, only

To find beyond death

Bridgeport, Ohio.