lady whitman on the streets

The city of Chicago caresses my body; giving me goosebumps to get me through the day,
The gogomobile honks sound like mellophone horns in F, an alert amplifying others (wake up dude),
The train breeze belts out to the restless by the edge of the racks, like fingers strumming through my hair,
The techno toot bounced the restless back to health, saved by the time,
The busker duo with soulful voices at ease with a bass, tangerine, and a backing track, a dollar deserved, a spacious tune traveling,
The considerate smoker gracefully lit his cigarette and strained Turkish tobacco to his side as passers walk by,
The bearded man pulling his lady close pecking, with a small coffee in his hand, a Honeymoon,
The earful of music for a scraggly man-dancing like he’s onstage while waiting for the bus,
The tide of commuters walking along to the rhythm of others, not too close, not too far,
The homeless man with rattling change in a plastic 7 eleven cup, a supplement to the soundscape,
The bookish, multitasking mother reading Angels with Dirty Faces, swaying the stroller,
The golden-haired Gemini, an air sign on the Gold Coast, the only light in her eyes was the city lights,
The tourists in love with every wrong turn they take joining in on the chorus,
The overly dressed man sitting at a McDonald’s by a stranger shuffling his feet, gazing to the window nearest,
The myopic oaf conversing with a group of art school students, asking questions about their upcoming short film (caring),
The car on standby by the semi-used up curb, call and response,
The grinning bystander’s agreeing to take a picture for a couple, their stance, grease lightening sturdy… photoflash,
The pacing woman circles around a trash can, a boast to her boy,
The attendee outside of the club alley coping with coke, dope, and choking fits, an ally appeared,
The loner with a twitching left leg observing the games being played, a side of laughter, in and out of love with the forget-me-nots,
The psychonaut painter with project stains all over his mom pants deems a ebullient dream tranquil, embelleshing clever brushwork,
The modes of flies flowing in roves like oceans, encircling flight, relating with the scurries of personages,
The young flourishing within present moments, announcing their visions of success,
The scurried waitress serving rum and coke in sepia sandals, refining an order in chimes,
The concession stand supplies foibles to the packed pops, keeping it spick and span,
The wind breathes and the birds listen, accepting the earth’s wisdom, a free association conversation,
The victims of chance at random, a predictable waltz with ever-changing tunes,
The designer looking around, licking her dabbed lips, jotting down notes, stem suited like an electronic mosaic,
The trunks and leaves stretching up to a hundred feet above an elder’s head, the man small compared (a reminder) to the greenery, puffs away,
The construction worker, waiting to receive his energy for the afternoon, instantaneous wide eyes after the sip is received, he is ready to renew your world,
The caretaker slowing down, giving granny a chance to make it to the race, a short-lived smile at her attempt,
The trio of bikers blasting past with 90’s rap, in running formation,
The Planned Parenthood volunteer, prepared to donate their words, persistently he reels in a young professional, in exchange a subscription for good,
The sun coming down through miles of skyscrapers, fragmented like a pointillist painting, speckled shadows and luminous light,
The reassuring afternoon of a perpendicular peace, steak scented, with gogomobiles fleeting by incorporating pneumatic sound effects,
The new resident seeking something greater than themselves,
The tremulous poise of a kiddie, taking big boy steps onto the bus,
And the brush of a stylish, sleek Chicagoan on the L train cures loneliness,
And as the city engulfs my soul, I still have plenty of soul to give,
And in these recycled paths, I learn to love trash, I bury myself in it until the stench no longer lingers.

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