Sunday, June 09, 2013

Chicago, Summer 2008

The one night.  Stipe was
singing at the United.
We ate at a diner

then bused down with some
anxious kids.  Who’d never seen
the high rise Moloch

up close.  I recall
telling them about the time

in ’99 when
we stayed at the Palmer House
so I could look for

a job.  A way out
of the far north.  It was cold
10 below but I 

went anyway.  They
remembered the indoor pool.
So I’ve been there.  A

hard place I wouldn’t
want to stay.  Where the music
goes “hey-hey”

and the lights last an
eternity when the last
train, the Empire

Builder pulls out, hot
for Milwaukee then empty
Wisconsin.  I was

there when the hard snow
fell, there when the summer poured
its heat into a singer

and the Chicago
river was dirty, green,  like
a story from Illinois.

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