he runs south on a northbound one-way
right in the middle of Sacramento Ave.
he lives just to the east in Ravenswood Manor.
i live just to the west in Albany Park.
i am walking the dog.
we turn right (west) on Sunnyside
he is walking, now, back east.
he says hello and asks if the dog is friendly.
overly, i say. they bow to meet.
i ask how far he got today.
about six miles, he says.
my name is rod rod says
i’m kevin i say, and this is Brooklyn
the former governor of illinois who tried
to get paid to fill a senate seat, laughs.
it is near winter in the greatest city in the world
the air a right kind of cool, a still
the body can sweat and glide thru
the body alive, a part of
rather than apart from.
the body ventilates.
the body is brilliant.
down the street rod says
we banter about weather, running
you guys should come over, we’re neighbors
the invitation seems sincere
and desperate. i think
all politicians are sinister
self and wealth
in their crown
all the time.
the rod on tv is still
petting the dog.
i have not knocked
his door. but still see tv
trucks outside his home. i still
see lights on inside the beautiful
blonde brick on Sunnyside.
one night his wife opened the door
for a food delivery, Chinese. i think
i heard a horrible thunder
on another late night walk
a fight between a man and a woman
something horribly human
there is something horribly humbling
and idiotic about us, something
inept and embarrassed
a hand in the cookie jar
a craze of isolation
of lonely, the kind
desperation that allows
the fallen to invite a stranger
home. the hope for anyone
to see, the desire
everyday on the train
furious for another’s eyes
to rest on your body
breathing. to see you
in the streets. to hold you
in some fleeting embrace
until the end (until the end)
until the run