Carl Sandburg’s “Stripes” gives us four brief scenes, each with a person who should be connected to something—work, duty, other people—but who is quietly isolated instead. A policeman outside a bank at three in the morning is lonely in the empty dark. Another policeman stands at a busy downtown corner at noon surrounded by crowds, cars, and packages, yet he is still lonely. A suburban woman sits up all night with a sick typhoid patient, with only a clock to talk to. A shop worker selling gloves during a department store rush is lost in the frantic motion of many hands. In each case, busyness or stillness doesn’t matter; the feeling is the same. The mood is flat, tired, almost documentary, like street photographs. The poem suggests that loneliness can exist anywhere, even in the middle of a crowd or a full day of work.
Stripes — Summary
Policeman in front of a bank 3 A.M. . . . lonely. Policeman State and Madison . . . high noon . . . mobs . . . cars . . . parcels . . . lonely. Woman in suburbs . . . keeping night watch on a sleeping typhoid patient . . . only a clock to talk to ... lonesome. Woman selling gloves ... bargain day department store . . . furious crazy-work of many hands slipping in and out of gloves . . . lonesome.