Cheryl Amy Hollander

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The Best Poem Of Cheryl Amy Hollander

Sweet Poem Chicago

I sit on the worn oak bar stool,
The room smells of must, tobacco,
Beer. My feet are planted on the edge.
My muscles tense as the gray haired
Tribune reporter, his face wizened
As a walnut shell, blows into the tavern,
Arriving for his fried egg sandwich.
Stamping off the slush, his overcoat
Carries a whiff of ozone and cigars,
In rarified air that's so painfully
Cold beyond cold, it relentlessly
Blows in the Windy City-
A wind off Lake Michigan
On this gray February Day
Mixed with taxi exhaust,
Driving under the overpass,
Horns blowing
In the underworld that is Wacker Drive.
I breathe deeply and know I'm home.
Sweet poem, Chicago.
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Cheryl Hollander 2020

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