Remember when I used to post poems that nobody cared about but me? I can't believe I haven't done that here yet! That's like living in a house without a kitchen table for four months.

So.

(you've all heard this one before...but I just started liking it last week)

I. CHICKENS

I am The Great White Way of the city:
When you ask what is my desire, I answer:
“Girls fresh as country wild flowers,
With young faces tired of the cows and barns,
Eager in their eyes as the dawn to find my mysteries,
Slender supple girls with shapely legs,
Lure in the arch of their little shoulders
And wisdom from the prairies to cry only softly at the ashes of my mysteries.”


II. USED UP
[Lines based on certain regrets that come with rumination upon the painted faces of women on North Clark Street, Chicago]

Roses,
Red roses,
Crushed

In the rain and wind
Like mouths of women
Beaten by the fists of
Men using them.
O little roses
And broken leaves
And petal wisps:
You that so flung your crimson
To the sun
Only yesterday.


III. HOME

Here is a thing my heart wishes the world had more of:
I heard it in the air of one night when I listened
To a mother singing softly to a child restless and angry in the darkness.

Poems Done on a Late Night Car
Carl Sandburg