Author Charles Reznikoff The dead man lies in the street.They spread a sack over his bleeding head.It drizzles. Gutter and walks are black.His wife now at her window,the supper done, the table set,waits for his coming out of the wet. Tags Short Poems Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments