The Small Town Celebrates

Bibliographic Information

Author	Wilson Baker, Karle
Genre	Poetry
Journal or Book	Modern Verse: British and American
Publisher	Henry Holt and Company
Year of Publication	1921
Pages	111-113
Additional information	This version of the poem was published as part of a 1921 collection but was likely published before 1920.

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We tumbled out into the starry dark
Under the cold stars; still the sirens shrieked,
As we reached the square, two rockets hissed
And flowered: they were the only two in town.
Down streamed the people, blowing frosty breath
Under the lamps—the mayor and the marshal,
The fire department, members of the band,
Buttoning their clothes with one hand, while the other
Clutched a cold clarionet or piccolo
That shivered for its first ecstatic squeal.
We had no cannon—we made anvils serve.
Just as our fathers did when Sumter fell;
And all a little town could do, to show
That twenty haughty cities heaped together
Could not be half so proud and glad as we,
We did. Soon a procession formed itself—
Prosperous and poor, young, old, and staid and gay,
Every glad soul who'd had the hardihood
To jump from a warm bed at four o'clock
Into the starry blackness. Round the square—
A most unmilitary sight—it pranced,
Straggled and shouted, while the street-lamps blinked
In sleepy wonder.
At the very end
Where the procession dwindled to a tail,
Shuffled Old Boozer. From a snorting car
But just arrived, a leading citizen
Sprang to the pavement.
“Hallelujah, Boss!
“We's whop de Kaiser!”
“Well, you old black fraud,”
(The judge's smile was hiding in his beard)
“What's he to you?”
Old Boozer bobbed and blinked
Under the lamps; another moment, he
Had scrambled to the base about the post,
And through the nearer crowd the shout went round,
“Listen—Old Boozer's going to preach!”
He raised
His trancéd eyes. A moment's pause.
“O Lawd,
You heah dis gemman ax me dat jes' now,
'What's he to Boozer'? Doan he know, O Lawd,
Dat Kaiser's boot-heel jes' been tinglin' up
To stomp on Boozer? Doan he know de po',
De feeble, an' de littlesome toddlin' chile
Dat scream to Hebben when he tromp 'em down,
Hab drug dat Bad Man right down off his throne
To ebberlastin' torment? Glory, Lawd!
We done pass through de Red Sea! Glory, Lawd!
De Lawd done drug de mighty from his seat!
He done exalted dem ob low degree!
He sabe de spark from dem dat stomp it out!
He sabe de seed from dem dat tromp it down!
He sabe de lebben strugglin' in de lump!
He sabe de—“
Cheering, laughing, moving on,
With cries of “Go it, Boozer!” the crowd swirled
About his perch; but, as I passed, I saw
A red-haired boy, who stood, and did not move,
But gazed and gazed, as if the old man's words
Raised visions. In his shivering arms he held
A struggling puppy; once I heard him say,
“Down, Woodrow!” but he scarcely seemed to know
He spoke. The stars paled slowly overhead;
The din increased; the crowd surged; but the boy
Stood rapt. As I turned back once more, I saw
Full morning on his face. And at the end
Of our one down-town street, the laughing sun
Came shouting up, belated, but most glad.