On a gray
and gradual-
ly—grayer
windblown mid-
March
afternoon—
neither still
winter,
nor much
like spring—the view
from a
raw Chicago avenue
of distantly orangeyellow
and blue
and rubycolored—church windows
looks particularly dark
and
unclean
and
not special—compared with
the nearer-by crowded
mirth of
pink faces brimming
that's fogging-
up
the plain glass
edifice of Stan's—
indefatigably catholic-
looking donut shop.
