Poems (Kennedy)/Transformation

by Sara Beaumont Kennedy

TRANSFORMATION

WE pass along the city streets,
 Oppressed with sense of change;
The pavements seem so gray and lone,
 The corners dull and strange.
And then we realize that what
 We miss these summer noons
Are "shrieking" shirts and "passion" sox
 Of by-gone yester-Junes.

And suddenly it comes to us,
 Decreed by martial law,
The boys who were our "jelly-beans"
 Have gone away to war.
Have gone away, and ah! it stirs
 And quickens all our blood
To know their trainers say of them:
 "The lads are making good."

The boys who laughed and loafed and smoked
 And danced the jazz-time rag
Are serving Uncle Sam today
 As soldiers of the flag.
The "shrieking" shirt's a khaki blouse,
 The sox of riot hue
Are woolen gray, and lose themselves
 In wide-toed army shoe.

The heads are up, the shoulders square;
 They walk with martial swing—
You had not dreamed a "Willy-boy"
 Could bloom to such a thing.
The one-time pasty skins are seared
 With coat of ocre tan;
Hats off! and see a "jelly-bean"
 Evolve into a man!

And when the war is done and they
 Come marching home to us,
You wager both your blooming eyes
 We're going to make a fuss,
And shout until our throats are hoarse
 For every transformed lad
Who went away in screaming clothes
 And comes back khaki clad!