If not for the man who spit, left saliva foaming on the sidewalk,
I would be enchanted with this great/magna city
City of women in/with baubles, tweed, and unsheared legs
On walks across slush-filled potholes
Here’s the disenchanting story…
It’s shrugging off the cold,
mumbled words spoken at the water cooler
Words, phrases said that you can’t hear,
(and hope are good)
Written: 1/30/05
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