by Jack Phillips Lowe
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Chicago’s air quality: ‘We’re in the crosshairs.’ Wildfires and wind push region’s air to worst in the world, global pollution index shows. —Chicago Tribune, June 27, 2023. Photo: The Chicago skyline is blanketed in haze from Canadian wildfires seen from Solidarity Drive on June 27, 2023, as weather officials issued an air quality alert. (Antonio Perez/Chicago Tribune) |
They’ve counted you out… again.
They say you’re gone, for good this time.
They say we must get used to
speaking of you in the past tense.
Is there nothing left for you,
dear town, but to be forgotten?
And perhaps forgiven, too, for all
that you were and weren’t?
Will there be any hope of legacy—
the slim chance of being exhumed
from the ashes of time, an ancient outpost
to be ooo-ed and ahh-ed over by scavengers,
born centuries after you breathed your last?
With no one left to tell your stories,
will they fumble through your relics—
children trying to piece together
a picture puzzle that was made
by grandparents they never knew?
I steal down your empty streets,
duck in and out of your deserted doorways,
a ghost too naive to know that it’s passed.
I hunt faces in darkened windows.
I chase traces of voices, fragments of songs
bouncing down bare alleys—
I won’t believe that I’m alone.
Chicago, I won’t quit you.
Go ahead, tax me—
take every one of my few dimes.
When my pockets are empty,
I’ll present to you the lint from them,
gift-wrapped like the sweetest box of candy
you ever tasted on St. Valentine’s Day.
Bon appetit, Chicago!
I refuse to fall out of love with you.
Chicago, you can’t scare me off.
I know all your tricks—
fires, floods, blizzards,
heatwaves, riots, wrecking balls,
lies, corruption, graft,
crappy sports teams
and blood, blood, blood.
Don’t forget: you made me.
I’m a monster in your own image,
inoculated against all your horrors.
Chicago, I’m staying right here.
Someone much smarter than I once said
that a town is an idea, as much as a place.
As long as there is a group of people,
however small, to hold that idea in their hearts—
come hell or high water—
then, that town will survive.
Look around you, my home.
I’m not alone. Those faces I sought
peek out from all corners and shadows.
So many know and value you—
more than you do, yourself.
You’ve tried suicide before.
But it never works out.
There’s just too much life in you—
life that won’t be denied.
Stop, dear town, this self-flagellation.
Our faith in you lives on.
We won’t let you destroy yourself.
Chicago, we’re standing fast.
Jack Phillips Lowe is a lifelong resident of the Chicago area. His poems and short stories have appeared in Clutch 2023, Cajun Mutt Press, and Red Fez Magazine among other outlets. His most recent book, Flashbulb Danger: Selected Poems 1988-2018 (Middle Island Press), is available from Amazon.com.
