Visit

From Egyptian steps, our city was the view.
A busy street that moves all day
sleeps softly by night, stirring ever
so slightly. My feet were achey,
dull life new shoes and he was making threats.
I can do it. I don't see why not.
But you'll get sick, you'll get sick and sicker.
It's dangerous.
I've done it before.
But does that mean you should do it again?
Well.
Well?
I should've stayed home. I should've stayed on that street
corner while the tunnel was beneath us and he stood while
the lights changed - twice. Our stop was on my side.

Kildare

The sensation of home can only be impossible.
It holds no meaning but for one.
Each individual open to no closure
and as the pavement changes
from a dark charcoal gray to a sparkling
gem dotted street paved with golden skin
as wheels still turn
wearing the ground thin
as my patience for prompt responses
disintegrate as fast as the children
fly.

Mundane

While walking for an important appointment,
I was on the side of a winding road
when a truck tire fought with a robin
for a single, square inch of asphalt.
The robin lost his head
which ended up on my shoes.
On the up side of all this,
it was raining
so the mess faded faster
and was gone in time for
my appointment.

Hooked

The way his skin snaked over his bones,
scars a mile wide under
patches of mistake remembrances
reminded me of an exquisite feeling.
One feeling that I had only once,
a year ago,
the days were all the same
filled with nights that are
muddled
and forgettable.
But this feeling came
with a morning,
inexplicably dire
but an odd sense of ambiguity.
This feeling
knew
as a sun rose and my blood
cleared way for an ancient beast slowly
climbing up my back
curled around my neck
and sat.
The pressure began to heighten.
I knew he wouldn't leave easy
but that knowledge did not compare
to the feeling
of him
waiting
for me
to miss.

Break

The MC on State and Lake danced his way around the microphone stand, the mic stuck between his left arm and ribcage. His Nikes and three tooth grin were his dysfunctional charms so that when he motioned at the young asian female to come dance with him-sneakers inching closer, toothless mouth making nonsense noises but the doors are only open for eight seconds so before he has a chance to pull out the big guns; she's gone.

Five Trunked Tree

Day care center with an alley bound play pen, a chain link fence holding in the children, covered sides by a Chinese restaurant and a dollar store.
Leveled fields of former prosperity with tags on top of tags.
Steel, wire and tubing.
A winter home made from abandoned scraps: parts of a roof, structure, support beams.
It sits next to the city crematorium.
A still life of spokes, boxcars and wheels behind the eclipsing water tower until the new condos spark light from behind their thick, red brick walls while a fiberglass shark waits in line at a taquería.
Spaghetti ramps over the canal while a new turnout of secret after dinner messages are being led out the door.
The last thing I see before I fall asleep is the half inflated football on top of the bus stop canopy at Halsted and Archer.

Blueberries

Blueberry, you are a tart temptation
waiting to explode.
Your skin beckons against my inner cheek,
taught with flavor.
I can feel the prickling tip of your stem
scratch against me.
Simmering on low,
full of your own juice and sucrose swirling
a temptation for my hand
to dive in your sticky sweetness
burn my own hand
to relish your taste.
You remind me of Maine summers I always wanted,
never had.
You remind me of his lips,
sick with a sweet adoration for me.
You remind me of a blueberry,
tart and sweet,
thick skin with lush molten guts,
succulent against my map of tastes.