By J.J. Tindall
GREAT EXPECTATIONS
It is the best of cities
And the worst of cities.
I checked it out, and I found myself a city
To live in.
WHERE will let me
Be me?
I made a bet. You bet!
I knew I’d need
Big shoulders to cry upon,
Big enough for both
My dirty angels. I knew I’d need space
To spread my brittle wings. I knew I’d need a place
To sing.
When I was just a boy
In Naperville, Illinois
I thought Chicago was a blown-glass downtown
Surrounded by
A vast, dissipated
Ghetto. Burlington-Northern got me where I needed to
Get to: Wrigley Field, Chicago Stadium, the
International Amphitheater. I saw what I could see:
Led Zeppelin, the Stones,
The Foghat, Queen.
Wax Trax, Bizarre Bazaar, eventually
Max
Tavern. I became
What I could be.
Hey: I didn’t go
To college. I went to
Illinois State. There, I
Learned that middle-class, heck, even UPPER
middle-class people lived in
The city. Dick Roeper, Mick Caplan,
Randolph
Salerno. Evan, Vinnie . . .
Phyllis’, Rainbo, Czar
Bar,
Ola’s.
Metro, Club 950, Exit.
Checkerboard Motherfucking
Lounge (hi Mr. Guy! OK
If we stay?)
Souled American . . .
Tribe . . .
Then, I made myself take
A leap
Of faith, a virtual swan-dive
Off the Sears
Tower: I got up
Onstage
In a
Bar,
And read my terrified poem
To a handful of people who came
To watch the hockey game.
Not only did I survive,
I got a FREE BEER, and got out
Alive.
I found myself
I found myself
I found myself
A city
To live in.
–
J. J. Tindall is the Beachwood’s poet-in-residence. He can reached at jjtindall@yahoo.com. Chicagoetry is an exclusive Beachwood collection-in-progress.
Posted on August 18, 2008