CHICAGO
by Timothy Sandberg
March 2008
Wind-blasted brick buildings spilling out
Out from the steel and glass monoliths of down-town.
Not by the formidable stone of the great museums nor
Standing before the scope of the grand modern sculptures,
But on a weary train, almost empty, heading north
Out of the Warzone,
Here it is quiet enough to hear the city’s music.
Frost-beaten brick tenements the color of dry blood
Sighing steam and warm grey smoke from chimney pipes,
Sad-eyed buildings watch the CTA crawl to and fro
in the flurries.
The city is slow; sleepy neighborhoods like someone
dropped Spain in the snowy north, clad her in bricks,
and announced the two o’clock hour.
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