You Can Have It
by Philip Levine
My brother comes home from work
 and climbs the stairs to our room.
 I can hear the bed groan and his shoes drop
 one by one. You can have it, he says.
 The moonlight streams in the window
 and his unshaven face is whitened
 like the face of the moon. He will sleep
 long after noon and waken to find me gone.
 Thirty years will pass before I remember
 that moment when suddenly I knew each man
 has one brother who dies when he sleeps
 and sleeps when he rises to face this life,
 and that together they are only one man
 sharing a heart that always labours, hands
 yellowed and cracked, a mouth that gasps
 for breath and asks, Am I gonna make it?
 All night at the ice plant he had fed
 the chute its silvery blocks, and then I
 stacked cases of orange soda for the children
 of Kentucky, one gray boxcar at a time
 with always two more waiting. We were twenty
 for such a short time and always in
 the wrong clothes, crusted with dirt
 and sweat. I think now we were never twenty.
 In 1948 the city of Detroit, founded
 by de la Mothe Cadillac for the distant purposes
 of Henry Ford, no one wakened or died,
 no one walked the streets or stoked a furnace,
 for there was no such year, and now
 that year has fallen off all the old newspapers,
 calendars, doctors’ appointments, bonds
 wedding certificates, drivers licenses.
 The city slept. The snow turned to ice.
 The ice to standing pools or rivers
 racing in the gutters. Then the bright grass rose
 between the thousands of cracked squares,
 and that grass died. I give you back 1948.
 I give you all the years from then
 to the coming one. Give me back the moon
 with its frail light falling across a face.
 Give me back my young brother, hard
 and furious, with wide shoulders and a curse
 for God and burning eyes that look upon
 all creation and say, You can have it.
End of the poem
15 random poems
- Sonnet II by William Shakespeare
- Corona by Paul Celan
- Юлия Друнина – Целовались
- Robert Burns: Sylvander To Clarinda: Extempore Reply to Verses addressed to the Author by a Lady, under the signature of “Clarinda” and entitled, On Burns saying he ‘had nothing else to do.’
- The Distant Winter by Philip Levine
- Epigram on a Swearing Coxcomb by Robert Burns
- Tenuous And Precarious by Stevie Smith
- Our Fathers Also by Rudyard Kipling
- Concealment
- Upon The Hills Of Georgia poem – Alexander Pushkin
- Who by Sylvia Plath
- Methought I Saw The Footsteps Of A Throne by William Wordsworth
- Forlorn, my love, no comfort here (Song) by Robert Burns
- Ballade Of The Royal Game Of Golf poem – Andrew Lang poems
- The Parting
Some external links:
Duckduckgo.com – the alternative in the US
Quant.com – a search engine from France, and also an alternative, at least for Europe
Yandex – the Russian search engine (it’s probably the best search engine for image searches).

Philip Levine ( 1928 – 2015) was an American poet best known for his poems about working-class Detroit. He taught for more than thirty years in the English department of California State University, Fresno and held teaching positions at other universities as well. He served on the Board of Chancellors of the Academy of American Poets from 2000 to 2006, and was appointed Poet Laureate of the United States for 2011–2012
