Six Street
ends come together here.
They feed people and wagons into the center.
In and out all day horses with thoughts of nose-bags.
Men with shovels, women with baskets and baby buggies.
Six ends of streets and no sleep for them all day.
The people and wagons come and go, out an din.
Triangles of banks and drug stores watch.
The policemen whistle, the trolley cars bump.
Wheels, wheels, feet, feet, all day.
Written about the intersection of Loomis and 18th Street. This is how it looks today.
