Hot Summer Evening in Chicago
Margaret Wold
Tired men in undershirts sit
slumped outside their flats,
they swap old baseball stories,
drink their beer
and wonder if the Cubs
have any chance to win
the pennant race this year.
Downy seeds float lazily
from languid poplar trees
while talk moves on to wishes
for a sudden lake-born breeze
to cool the summer's twilight
and the city's sizzling streets.
(My Dad was out there, too.)
Odors of pork chops and onions sneak
through screens and open doors
while women's feet make hurrying sounds
on white-scrubbed kitchen floors
and busy mothers call their kids
to help with supper's chores.
(My Mom was in there, too.)
Laughing girls in summer frocks
and boys with changing voice,
joke and poke and try to touch the partner of their choice.
Dying daylight prods them toward
the gas-lit corner lamp,
their bodies hot and sweating now
with more than summer's damp.
(And I was with them, too.)
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