LaSalle Street, Thursday Afternoon
In which a brief encounter makes me dubious about connecting with people...
On my way out the office whistling “Count Your Blessings”… my fellow Chicagoans are going about their business with Barabbas, their lunch breaks, various deals (shady or sunny) that’s the way the city works, and scanning every face to know what’s reflecting back at me. After getting $53 from the ATM ($3 service charge, you know ;-) I wind my way through the crowds. I see a young hipster couple: the girl carries a tote bag with Pegasus and the word POETRY (i.e. Poetry Magazine’s logo) so naturally I follow them --like Apollinaire might do— perhaps it’s a sign from the Universe that these are people I should know? all the while whistling, counting my blessings. The couple stops at a street corner: young skinny guy, short blonde hair in equally skinny jeans; while the girl’s wearing dark butterfly sunglasses on her slightly pouty, slightly haughty face. “Uh, excuse me…” I said. She’s startled as if I were going to steal her purse… “I couldn’t help but notice your tote bag…are you folks into poetry?” Then Skinny Guy: “It’s Poetry Magazine’s logo. I used to work for them.” And before another syllable escaped my mouth, they dart away as if I were a tote bag salesman, to close out the conversation. And after assembling my salad at a local deli—across from where you can always find a crucified Jesus hanging out at St. Peter’s church—I head back to the office, past suit stores in various stages of liquidation, past alleys where IT guys puff on frustration and boredom, and lawyers in $999 suits act as if they own LaSalle Street on this Thursday afternoon, as the sun lays down beautiful strips of light, wondering whether it’s still possible to talk to strangers anymore?
Talk about putting me there. Great poem! I really loved so many of the phrases but that last paragraph is genius!