Every evening, <br />up in my rooom, <br />I try to finish a poem <br />but Chicago is hot <br />and it's better outside, <br />strolling along the Lake <br />or driving anywhere <br />with the windows down. <br /> <br />You sound good, <br />if undecided about things. <br />My life gets better <br />no matter how hard I try <br />to make it worse. <br />No medicine <br />for a month now; <br /> <br />no poems, either. <br />I can't recall my last <br />spontaneous erection. <br />I'd blame it all on the heat <br />but you'd know better. <br /> <br />Summer in Chicago <br />makes people accessible <br />and I've become chatty <br />in these later years. <br />I find that small talk <br /> <br />with people oiled <br />and stretched like tarps <br />on Pratt Avenue Beach <br />trumps any summer attempt <br />at revising a poem winter <br />revisions never made right. <br /> <br />We'll see if my new affair <br />with society lasts. <br />How long will I <br />continue to meet strangers <br />who introduce me <br />to myself?<br /><br />Donal Mahoney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/letter-to-annie-far-away/
