Suppose—for a moment
Chicago-
land's oldest
facades of ruddy
brick—
all leaning
chipped
and gritty—definitely no longer
pretty
to see—save maybe
for
nearer
to the hardly-
seen
bottom of each—
here
and there—a curious
but inadvertent
green mossy gully;
suppose—
each
little dismal
individual brick even!—still
had something
tough—to say
about us—
like—I don't
know
maybe—just
you do what you can.
