Sunday, November 30, 2008

Chicago Poem #1

I wonder how many sandwiches
Slid down the counter
in the midst of a conversation
That meant the birth of a child,
the loser meeting the winner,
the beginning of a job,
the end of a career.

I think of Studs
combing back his hair in the mirror.
I wonder what he preferred.
Italian beef, Turkey, an all beef hot dog.
Maybe a taco or a latke, instead.
Was he on the wall at Manny's Deli
with Jim McMahon? Nah.
He had more important things to do.

I imagine the best sandwich Studs ever ate
was served to him
in a simple apartment,
smoke from a cigarette hanging in the air
with the static of the tape rolling,
by a tough-handed woman
on stale bread, with a bit of government cheese
maybe some bologna and bright yellow mustard
And he savored its separate parts quietly
as she told him everything.

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Chicago Poem #44

So, we change the poem.

Fall to our knees,
stay up too late, take the fifth.
Chicago holds you in its memory
while a slaugtherhouse in Iowa
files for bankruptcy.
There is more work for you,
I will spirit,
now that you have volunteered.

So we change the poem:
Tonight, Division Street is united.