by Joshua Siegal
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What’s the fuckin deal?
Cutting me off, you bastard
Red light; we both stop.
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Pensive, I gaze up
Above, clouds lope in the sky…
Whoops – stepped in dog shit.
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By the Drake Hotel
Round that L S D corner
Whoa shit, hit the brakes
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On Division Street
Empty burned out windows curse
Those fucking condos
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January chill
She, after the Superbowl:
“You get yourself home”
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Poor deprived children
A lost Chi-town heritage
Ketchup on hot dogs!?
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Seven-dollar ‘Beef
Smaller than my damn wallet
And the team sucks, too
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Blood wells at my lip
That the bouncer or some dude?
Wicker Park, up late
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Brown line yuppie girl
Turns to her Ken-doll man with:
“God I hate people”
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Irish laborers
Built Chicago with their blood
Now they run the town
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Blue-white cloud blanket
Sun stabs concrete through the gusts
Weather in the loop
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Hancock’s stacking exes
Loom over grey-green tumult
The lake is angry
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Rotted wood porch planks
The musty basement below
Band practice tonight
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My fleece, or t-shirt?
Breeze lifts rain smell from the street
Sun and shadow, spring
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Women with their dogs
All prance around lakeview streets
Leashes, collars, tongues
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On michigan ave:
“I do, I love shoes…love em.”
Old lady, pink coat
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They’re crumbling the streets
Potholes, rocks, and day-glo vests
The city that works
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The same damn char-dog
My hood, two bucks; eight downtown
“Property Values”
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My favorite colleague
South-side woman so funny
She’ll whoop your ass, too