A man’s old friends are acting as his pallbearers. The speaker gives quiet, practical directions: take hold of the six silver handles, lift him down the stairs, roll him into the hearse, and carry him to the grave, which Sandburg calls “the cold straight house” or “the last house of all.” The repeated commands make the scene feel close and physical. There is tenderness here, but no weeping—the speaker seems to hold grief in check by focusing on the task of moving the body. The friendship is present in the title and in those six shared handles. Then the poem turns stranger. The dead are silent, yet they “know much” and keep a “locked-up story” under their tongues. That ending is haunting: whatever the dead man knew or felt goes with him. His old pals are left carrying only his body, not his secrets. The overall mood is muted, respectful, and quietly eerie.
Pals — Summary
Take a hold now On the silver handles here, Six silver handles, One for each of his old pals. Take hold And lift him down the stairs. Put him on the rollers Over the floor of the hearse. Take him on the last haul, To the cold straight house. The level even house, To the last house of all.
The dead say nothing And the dead know much And the dead hold under their tongues A locked-up story.