Tuesday, July 22, 2014

HUMILITY CONTEST

On those rosy rare occasions
during 

grimy after-
noons spent walking—

when my steady-as-she-
goes attention 
span is—suddenly rather rudely 

embarrassed—
by a sheer clean wealth
of burnt yellow sun-

flowers and fiery 
shocks of spindly 

snapdragons waving 
at me madly—from 
behind an oddly 

fanciful 
wrought iron 
fence somehow splayed

out in 
Chicago's most 
tumbledown alley—that's

when I secretly
and sheepishly—feel
I'm actually pretty 

decent—at recognizing
when I've
been shown

whatever I 
must mean by—my own 
good fortune.

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