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Show Poeming an Ad-Page in the Chicago Daily News amid Doldrums of a Frigid Summer Day I write across this woman's face, blue ink piercing a white-capped smile; the kettle's soft purr portending its howl; quirk cold of a summer day pressed grey against the pane. The farm smells have all suddenly grown thin, are but the faint reminder of the dog days' fertile fumes. The hogs & cattle huddle in the shed. Again I glance this woman's face my lines have bit across: bitten, harsh, like furrows in the ice-dots of her flesh. She is the city: rouge & perfume swirling from the paper's monotone. She is the city where I must return. One cannot rive for booty, seek employment, skim the want ads from a farm. |