In the thin beery alley
just after
dusk—pulls its mauve-
turning-indigo-
colored covers over cool
old Chicago—
a man's murky outline
stains the driverside
window of his white conversion
van as he idles there
cramming—a paper-
wrapped burger with one hand.
With a slithering hot shiver, I
realize, walking past, that I've
all-together stopped—
listening to my headphones.
