In Calder's city <br />you test yourself by <br />parallel parking on Lyon Hill, <br />which bisects the old homes <br />of the lumber barons, <br />three blocks from <br />a less gilded 'hood, <br />and steel beams <br />stab the sky on Medical Hill <br />where someday they will cure cancer <br />based on the tissues <br />of white lab rats, <br />while out on the sidewalk <br />people pass by to their places, <br />looking to the right and the left <br />but never right at you, <br />so they can complete their daily circle <br />on the surprisingly clean streets, <br />free of 99.9% of homelessness <br />so close to City Hall, <br />where the flags are <br />at half mast <br />because in the West Side <br />someone shot a cop, <br />and the plaza is empty, <br />swept clean, <br />awaiting the next festival <br />that is to take place <br />in Calder's City.<br /><br />Ayn Timmerman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/g-r/
