BABEL

Another clamorous moiling 

Blue Line train—grungy, 

dead watersnake 

silver—nosedives 

south-

east bound 

underground at the Paulina 

Street cross-alley, while
red apple-cheeked

boy

after boy, high 

up on dad's lumpy 

shoulders—goes on

on gaping and 

chortling down through 

the greasy province 

of old chain link 

fencing; since, 

to him,

all work 

is nothing

short of silly, 

but all 

power is—unequivocally 

fascinating.