Unwanted Tomorrow

Traffic lights count down to car horns complaining over the smallest delay. Miles of rope protect the greenness of the park’s grass from leaving on skinned knees. Fountains are emptied of water, of pennies, of hopes, of delight. The children are in a darkened museum, next to extinct birds and mammals, tapping unresponsive touch screens.

Up and Away

“Going up”, I smile scooping her toddling legs onto my shoulders. Her fingers grip a week’s worth of whiskers. As a grey March wind sweeps yesterday’s transfers and ticket stubs into the fault lines of an unimportant West Loop sidewalk. “Going up”, she smiles as the elevator lifts us 103 stories. Above dilated office windows …

Caught

Tangled in the netting of a deep blue hammock spiral jetties of sun-bleached curls shade the eyes of a sleeping mermaid in pink water wings.