Tuesday, August 27, 2013

That Toddling Town

Magnificat Mile

Here, where vendrenuit stalks vendredi, 
she's on display, skirts all the rage.
The outskirts, half-razed
to lofts and lowing fogbanks,
mix laughter, slaughter,  brand,
and brand.  She totters in her skirts
called by lights,

     You know what you want !

one link in the food chain of desire.

     (Who told you what you want ?)

Her glassy eyes slide up the glassy spikes
into the black-and-blueblood sky
where flightless deco buttresses allude
to nothing that she knows of.

She's starving, stilletoed, damp
as a newborn calf.  Her eyes
dart like shiners; half-
blind, allured and alluring cultivar, hot-
house Rose of Charon, disingenue,

lean on the hog butcher beside you
the bristled one who
is ever sans souci !

The lagoons of his pig paradise drain
into the cash green city ditch of Farm Tech,
where logos ripple backwards among
schoolkids learning

where our meat comes from

(and where it goes) 

She holds her silk purse close. Hermes
psychopompos, hog butcher
of the over- and underworlds,
guides her past the tempting lights,
telling her where to look,

and where not to, down,
to read the crayoned cardboard



and meet the glance where favor, blessing drown.




christopher said...

I am not sure I can follow the French. It feels like you mean a prostitute on Friday night led by a john. That's a guess of course. And the rest gives me the sense she is new to the game.

I love your work even so. I always have.

Forsythia said...

I like your poetry, too. I'm getting a vegan message, but then I usually miss the point when I try to read poetry.

Paula said...

Yeah, Chicago (like most cities) is definitely about buying and selling -- and (more than most cities) about meat.

There is a shameless exhibit at the Museum of Science and Industry there about pork production, happy little piglets etc etc -- talk about sugar coated bacon.

I did like their soybean exhibit, although I'm probably the only person who ever explored it...