spitting
blood
into the fog
along the chicago
river, under
the michigan
avenue bridge
four in the morning
one cold dark
night
two fingers on
my left hand
broken
all my
knuckles bleeding,
drinking a half
pint of
jim beam
straight down
staggering &
looking up
through the fog
at the
lopsided
man in the moon
a tug boat
down river
toots twice
as i
make it up
the steps
to the
boulevard
& head over
to an
all night dive
on clark street
for more
of the
same
Dearborn Station Chicago
Sanchez
1970’s
skateboard
attached by
bongie cord
to his
ragged
plaid backpack
100 pounds
overweight
perpetually
huffing &
puffing
like death
walking
down a
steep incline
Matt, the Gimp
peg-legged
one-eyed
his one
good
eye dull-grey
& watering
his wooden
peg sharpened
into a spear
rolling Velvet
pipe
tobacco
into tight little
smokes
sitting with
his peg out
on the radiator
next to
the women’s
restroom
Zack & Ruby
all up
in
my face
with foul
breath
& blood
shot eyes.
his girl
Ruby
behind him
like a
Siamese
Twin, her
pretty face
plastered
up against
Zack’s
back like
there was
only one
idiot
& not
two of ‘em,
always hustling
for bennies, cigs
or coffee
money.
Jonnie “Mac” Brown
a
scar
as long
& wide
as a
healthy
banana
curved down
her right
forearm
a gashing
deep ravine
of pink
into her
beautiful
black flesh
smiling &
spinning in
slow
semicircles
whispering
her own
name
Hope
your
only
fuck-
ing
hope
here
is
find-
ing
the
peace
of
this
mo-
ment
jump-
ing
on
and
ridd-
ing
it
to
the
end
of
the
line
where
the
dream
ends
and
you
begin
to
be
what
you
have
always
been
