by Joshua Siegal

What’s the fuckin deal?
Cutting me off, you bastard
Red light; we both stop.

Pensive, I gaze up
Above, clouds lope in the sky…
Whoops – stepped in dog shit.

By the Drake Hotel
Round that L S D corner
Whoa shit, hit the brakes

On Division Street
Empty burned out windows curse
Those fucking condos

January chill
She, after the Superbowl:
“You get yourself home”

Poor deprived children
A lost Chi-town heritage
Ketchup on hot dogs!?

Seven-dollar ‘Beef
Smaller than my damn wallet
And the team sucks, too

Blood wells at my lip
That the bouncer or some dude?
Wicker Park, up late

Brown line yuppie girl
Turns to her Ken-doll man with:
“God I hate people”

Irish laborers
Built Chicago with their blood
Now they run the town

Blue-white cloud blanket
Sun stabs concrete through the gusts
Weather in the loop

Hancock’s stacking exes
Loom over grey-green tumult
The lake is angry

Rotted wood porch planks
The musty basement below
Band practice tonight

My fleece, or t-shirt?
Breeze lifts rain smell from the street
Sun and shadow, spring

Women with their dogs
All prance around lakeview streets
Leashes, collars, tongues

On michigan ave:
“I do, I love shoes…love em.”
Old lady, pink coat

They’re crumbling the streets
Potholes, rocks, and day-glo vests
The city that works

The same damn char-dog
My hood, two bucks; eight downtown
“Property Values”

My favorite colleague
South-side woman so funny
She’ll whoop your ass, too