Chicago - Washington Park Hello
At about 4:30 or maybe 4:40
the 9 to 5ers head out
or at least go somewhere
and my bench is hard
but it's not ice covered
like it was a couple months ago.
She'll be coming by soon
and today I'm gonna talk.
I'll say "Hi" or "Hello."
If I were my grandfather
I'd tip my hat
and say "How do you do?"
But I'm not
and anyway, I don't wear hats.
The bums here play checkers
on the concrete chessboards
all afternoon using bottlecaps
and washers for pieces.
Then they roam around town
asking for money.
I offer to buy coffee
but they say things like
"I couldn't have you go to the trouble."
It's no trouble to me
but they only want my money
to go to the liquor store on Rush Street
and buy Vodka or some J.D.
My brother in California says
that down by Mexico
the bums buy Tequila
with a worm in the bottle
and Mexicans who watch girls
call out "Hey Babee."
I don't think
she would be impressed by that.
The man across the sidewalk
must not care about these bums
cuz he feeds his popcorn
to the pigeons.
Pigeons are everywhere in this town.
I've heard the same
about New York.
My brother in California says
that pigeons are rats with wings.
Now the seagulls
leave surprises for him
on his car.
In California
some guys lean against
their Dad's Porsche or BMW
and watch girls.
They say "That's a nice outfit you got on, Muffy."
Her name's probably Lisa
but that doesn't matter
they still call her 'Muffy.'
I wonder if mine is named Lisa.
I hope she's not
Muffy. Even Sheryl
but not Muffy.
People start
to filter through my park.
Men with briefcases and ties.
I know they only wear ties
to impress women like mine.
They get home
and their wives say
"Hi, Honey. How was your day?"
They know what he's gonna say.
"The same."
Then they take their ties off
cuz there's no need to impress
their wives
and they get the paper
to read the weather: "Looks like
rain."
When it rains here
she carries a yellow umbrella
that two could fit under
and sometimes she wears matching galoshes
but not on a day like today.
The clouds all left us
to go rain on someone else
maybe in Detroit or South Bend.
I see her down the sidewalk
and as she draws near
I study her like
a fabulous painting
at the Art Institute.
Her slacks are
a tone or two darker than the sidewalk.
More like the Wrigley Building
but her belt and earrings
match the black stretch
going north on Dearborn.
I wonder if some guy leans against it
and calls girls Muffy.
Her sweater is the sky's color
on a hot summer day
and her hair is chestnut brown.
I check to make sure
her ringfinger is still bare
and then I look into her eyes.
Their sparkle
is the reason I stay in Chicago.
A tender curve comes to her lips
as she answers my smile.
I wet my throat
and say "How do you do?"
I almost reach
for the hat I'm not wearing.
Her smile broadens
and she tries to suppress a giggle.
"Fine, thanks"
and she remains smiling
as she continues her way.
I find it hard to believe
that I talked.
My brother in California will also
but I had too.
My smile will last
til tomorrow
and I tell myself
that when I marry her
and come home from work
I won't take off my tie.
- written by Kent C. Williamson (1987) -
- ©2005, 1996, 1991 In Search of Many Schemes -
the 9 to 5ers head out
or at least go somewhere
and my bench is hard
but it's not ice covered
like it was a couple months ago.
She'll be coming by soon
and today I'm gonna talk.
I'll say "Hi" or "Hello."
If I were my grandfather
I'd tip my hat
and say "How do you do?"
But I'm not
and anyway, I don't wear hats.
The bums here play checkers
on the concrete chessboards
all afternoon using bottlecaps
and washers for pieces.
Then they roam around town
asking for money.
I offer to buy coffee
but they say things like
"I couldn't have you go to the trouble."
It's no trouble to me
but they only want my money
to go to the liquor store on Rush Street
and buy Vodka or some J.D.
My brother in California says
that down by Mexico
the bums buy Tequila
with a worm in the bottle
and Mexicans who watch girls
call out "Hey Babee."
I don't think
she would be impressed by that.
The man across the sidewalk
must not care about these bums
cuz he feeds his popcorn
to the pigeons.
Pigeons are everywhere in this town.
I've heard the same
about New York.
My brother in California says
that pigeons are rats with wings.
Now the seagulls
leave surprises for him
on his car.
In California
some guys lean against
their Dad's Porsche or BMW
and watch girls.
They say "That's a nice outfit you got on, Muffy."
Her name's probably Lisa
but that doesn't matter
they still call her 'Muffy.'
I wonder if mine is named Lisa.
I hope she's not
Muffy. Even Sheryl
but not Muffy.
People start
to filter through my park.
Men with briefcases and ties.
I know they only wear ties
to impress women like mine.
They get home
and their wives say
"Hi, Honey. How was your day?"
They know what he's gonna say.
"The same."
Then they take their ties off
cuz there's no need to impress
their wives
and they get the paper
to read the weather: "Looks like
rain."
When it rains here
she carries a yellow umbrella
that two could fit under
and sometimes she wears matching galoshes
but not on a day like today.
The clouds all left us
to go rain on someone else
maybe in Detroit or South Bend.
I see her down the sidewalk
and as she draws near
I study her like
a fabulous painting
at the Art Institute.
Her slacks are
a tone or two darker than the sidewalk.
More like the Wrigley Building
but her belt and earrings
match the black stretch
going north on Dearborn.
I wonder if some guy leans against it
and calls girls Muffy.
Her sweater is the sky's color
on a hot summer day
and her hair is chestnut brown.
I check to make sure
her ringfinger is still bare
and then I look into her eyes.
Their sparkle
is the reason I stay in Chicago.
A tender curve comes to her lips
as she answers my smile.
I wet my throat
and say "How do you do?"
I almost reach
for the hat I'm not wearing.
Her smile broadens
and she tries to suppress a giggle.
"Fine, thanks"
and she remains smiling
as she continues her way.
I find it hard to believe
that I talked.
My brother in California will also
but I had too.
My smile will last
til tomorrow
and I tell myself
that when I marry her
and come home from work
I won't take off my tie.
- written by Kent C. Williamson (1987) -
- ©2005, 1996, 1991 In Search of Many Schemes -
