Chicago – KensView

Too Brief! Too Late!

The other day, at an evening soiree,
I met a rather mellow fellow
Which sparked a conversational colloquy
With more than the usual mutual commonalities:
How we knew the Hosts and Guests of Honor,
And that we shared the same Golden Age.
After fleeing the city of Broad Shoulders,
We both had entered the grinding Rat Race,
And later barely escaped the desiccating Valley of Silicon,
While finally attaining the Grand Order of the Grinder.
He muttered of some shuttered venture
But then beamed about country rides with his Lynne.
In turn, I brought up a personal project
About which he became truly intrigued:
Penning poetic paeans to folks famed and friendly
For their life-long gift of service and joy.
But that was that; the event had ended,
No time to learn more before a quick so long.
Now the news leaves me no means to make
A portrait of such a worthy and dear human being.
Rick, I’m riled. That was not the deal!
I was about to write your “On the Road”
Or was that “Born to be Mild”?

It was meant for you and your loved ones to view.
Rick, we demand a redo!

Cubs Fan

Suffering is your birthright:

the team’s still directionless and confused

short-term replacements with underpay

needs good starting pitching, a lot of it

two runners again left on base.

They say they’re building a core and

this isn’t just another rebuild

while the Cubs Chairman feels your pain

as washed-up prima donnas

tease with a near playoff appearance.

A good and decent person you must be

for there is no more tortured

sports fan in the world than you

nor one that is more delighted to be

called “lovable loser.”

With an eternal mantra “Wait until next year,”

and though the Cubs may stink again, you say

give away my ticket, hell no

never stop the Hope

just take me out to that Wrigley game!

Safety Net

When some people talk about safety
They bring up personal accountability
Or speak when only theirs is in doubt.
This makes me remember
The time I lived on Maxwell
Hungry as I quested for work.
A scrounger with discernment
I feasted on the curb with my buddies
On cold chicken wings and some stale Ripple.

The Siren

No, the ensuing hookup was not my first;
but to handle it, I was not well rehearsed.
I had arrived from the northern chills
to attend university in the blazing Sonoran hills.
And after weathering a swirling sandstorm,
I finally settled into my new school’s dorm.
Next, I determined to explore my new town,
to relax and cool myself off after sundown.
Venturing out, I heard a bystander hawk,
“Hey, I just love the way you walk!”
The compliment got me to turn around
to learn where came that flattering sound.
Had someone noticed my personal stride,
which unwittingly attested my Chi-town pride?
The alluring voice had directed my attention
to a nubile youth of dark, creamy complexion,
She was a bubbly, mysterious ebony sprite
who sported a shear summer dress ever so tight.
We quickly struck up a rather raucous caucus
that carried on ardently to the mall of campus.
Obviously, my whole attention she stole,
our conversation ranging from silly to droll.
She snickered and queried if I had ever been
with anyone who wore her same type of skin.
Dumbstruck, I responded that I truly had not;
something I expressed wish to learn more about.
“Well, would you like to touch my curly hair?”
My answer to her was, “How do I dare?”
“Go right ahead. It’s no big deal;
I don’t mind if you want to give it a feel.”
Thereupon, I reached out timidly to touch;
she then offered her hand for me to clutch.
My head and parts perceived a quick rush;
Our close interaction had made me blush.
We tittered about things we had in common,
and about what in free time we did for fun.
But when we raised that specific topic,
her talk became more and more myopic.
She coyly quizzed if I liked to get buzzed,
just as everyone she proffered at the college does.
Alas, before me sat an artful temptress,
who by now had put my feelings under stress.
When pressed, she revealed she was underage,
and that for her social drinking was the rage.
She waited evenings for a wide-eyed score
who could buy her hooch at the liquor store.
So, instead of an intriguing new friend,
I sadly had encountered a dipso Siren.
Ergo, I declined politely getting some beers,
and begged leave as she shed crocodile tears.

🙂

City Note

In drizzling rain, ten patient people form a queue
One bus passes, then another: “Sorry, no room here”
With torrents downfall, six umbrellas blossom
The bus to city’s center arrives
Twenty people now converge on one point
Ordered rank turns into San Juan Hill
Collecting bones and baggage twelve of us board
Bell rings, “I’m descending.” “Excuse me.”
There goes today’s shoeshine
A playful driver, a screeching halt
A hundred people swing like hogs at slaughter
In a seat below, two children sit
They smile, day brightens, skyline opens.

Who stole it?

Is it greedy presidential hacks
Or those barbaric Pentagon rats?
My Uncle Sam proclaims he wants me
But what really chases me up this tree?
IRS comes knocking for some tax
I comply for fear of seeming lax:
Vietnam, Chicago still on fire
But I stay at home with no desire
Newspapers decry crime on the streets
As nightly I hide beneath my sheets
Midnight specials for Russian roulette
It seems there is no other outlet
I quietly sit sipping my tea
While Tricky Dick spouts shit on TV
But when I cry “Civic Robbery”
I see that I stole myself from me.

Born in Chicago / Not the Same

I was born in Chicago, 1952
I was born in Chicago in 1952
Well, my old friends told me
“Son, you’d better get outta town”

Well, my first cuz went down
When I was 17 years old
Oh, my first friend went down
When I was 17 years old
Well, there’s one thing I can say about that boy
Too young to go

Well, my second cuz went down
When I was 18 years of age
Oh, my second friend went down
When I was 18 years of age
Well, there’s one thing I can say about that boy
He gave us joy

Well, a close friend went down
When I was 21 years of age
Oh, my second friend went down
When I was 21 years of age
Well, there’s one thing I can say about that boy
He was no dud

Well, now rules are all right
If there’s someone left to play the game
Well, now rules are all right
If there’s someone left to play the game
All the young are gone now
Everything’s just don’t seem the same
Oh, things just don’t seem the same, oh no

– Thank you, Nick Gravenites

(1973)

The Cooling Box

I have to admit that it was a gift
that rescued us from Chicago’s
day after day, night after night
pitiless summer heat and humidity,
the endless series of restless sleep,
and dozens of sweat-soaked shirts.

My parents were very proud
that they could afford that box,
noisy and rattling as it was,
placed in the dining room window
the stream of cool, dry, restful comfort,
it even relieved mold and allergies.

But I had just sat in science class
on our costs of making energy;
so as I left home the next day
I saw the box that gave us pleasure
when multiplied millions of times
would sure lead to a future of hurt.

A Dime

We passed him along Clark Street,
The family out for an evening treat.
He sat huddled against a wall
Bracing against the chill of fall.
In a ragged suit, with one lame foot,
He was covered in grime and soot.
When I paused to look, eyes fixed,
My stomach began to twitch.
“Hey, what’s wrong with that man?
The sign says, ‘I need a hand.’”
“Now, don’t you get too near.
It’s nothing to worry about, dear.”
“But, it’s damp and cold today.
We can’t just walk away!”
“Okay, Kenny here take a dime.
But, quick, we’ve got little time.”
As I rushed back, coin in hand,
A smile broke out on the man.
Not enough, and only a start,
This enkindled a very young heart.