I suspect that no gardener lives here. King Street, Sandy Bay. July 2011. James Wright is one of my favourite poets. I can't comment on whorehouses in Wheeling, West Virginia... In Response to a Rumor That the Oldest Whorehouse in Wheeling, West Virginia Has Been Condemned , by James Wright I will grieve alone, As I strolled alone, years ago, down along The Ohio shore. I hid in the hobo jungle weeds Upstream from the sewer main, Pondering, gazing. I saw, down river, At Twenty-third and Water Streets By the vinegar works, The doors open in early evening. Swinging their purses, the women Poured down the long street to the river And into the river. I do not know how it was They could drown every evening. What time near dawn did they climb up the other shore, Drying their wings? For the river at Wheeling, West Virginia, Has only two shores: The one in hell, the other In Bridgeport, Ohio. And nobody would commit suicide, only To find beyond death Bridgeport, Ohio.