There—at the razor-raw
thin and meager corner
of Milwaukee
and Ashland Avenue, incensed
with leadheavy invisible odors—
with pillars
of rust, and limestone
dust, and exhaust;
somehow—a perfect treasure trove
(of lion's-soul yellow
yolks and their ever-
so-tenderly
sun-infused milk—of fresh-
ly purchased
and aggressively
dashed eggs!) congeals to its small and
inevitable rest—and is,
at best, fairly uncuriously avoided
by hungry droves of mayonnaise-
faced bus passengers.
