To Ms. Jeanne Sparrow

This city is immortalized in its gray
our culture personified by
shades of red and black
mixed on the palette of
half a million struggling, starving
artists crossing from car to car
in the high voltage steel
of the Chicago Transit Authority

This skyline cuts across the
mirrored blue with a vengeance
that terrifies the public eye
We're mollified by the trim
trained voice coursing through
this vein, "If you see any suspicious
activity"

I am suspicious of all activity.

Now the life-blood of
this population floats through
the brown, gray, scuffed corridors
he bears the wounds on his
hands and feet, bleeding, preaching,
"This is all I have. I need
Nickels and Dimes, nickels and dimes.
This is all I have, Change please Change
I haven't eaten in three days"
Drink from me. Don't be thirsty.

I am the only one in our car who partakes
As my mother watches, unamazed,
I drink from his blood, put my
fingers on his hands, feel the
wounds for myself, I believe in
resurrection.

On the third day, all the light in this city will go out
On the third day, they'll all be in
emergency, they'll all cross from
car to car and beg for life,
On the third day, this city will stand up,
and they'll all be Christ, they'll all bleed.

And I will watch, unamazed
As my children drink
and thirst no more.