I am of the ubiquitous near-suburban Chicago life,
community pools and field days,
“No Train Horn” legislation; cops and paramedics
living on either side.
I am from the West side of the tracks,
from committees set on beautifying run-down businesses
whose members own rotting buildings,
shouting, “Isn’t the storefront hideous?”
calling for more funds to pull weeds and
taxing small business owners in order to do so.
I am of the same ilk as the local folklore heroes,
from Bike Man to Bag Man, to the Apache, and Crazy Amy,
I wander the same streets, perhaps just as aimlessly,
though not whispering to bags in restaurant booths
or talking to my finger.
I am of Lindy’s Chili and Gertie’s Ice Cream,
of Wonderburger and Top Notch Beefburgers –
of perfect milkshakes and crisp fries
on summer days or autumn nights.
I am of the backyard barbeques,
of Sunday night dinners,
family game nights and Rainbow Cones scooped just right.
I speak the language of “Blood is thicker than water,”
“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,”
and, “You’re perfect just the way you are."
I acknowledge that Longwood is Short Steel,
and Dr. Pepper is Nurse Salt,
Cats say “tweet tweet,” and birds say, “meow.”
I know Devils and Angels hill through
vicarious childhood memories of
my flagpole-stealing, Tiger Milk-drinking,
non-hot dog-eating, prairie-going father
who once tried to poison a neighborhood bully
with a mud and grass mixture,
laughing wildly as he ran to safety.
I am of the ashes – I am a phoenix reborn,
from the dully-burning embers of a nigh-forgotten past,
from constant saviors and lifebringers,
and from bullies and friends (and the fine line between).
I am from a line of teachers,
certified and untrained, educated and ignorant,
from love and disdain, but I am solidified
and strengthened by
my own sheer will to survive and thrive
in a world of adversity.
