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Because our poets see beauty in rush hour

One of our favorite Chicago poets is inspired while crossing the Monroe Street bridge


From the Monroe St. bridge
            where I was walking east
I looked upriver one
            block to the Madison
St. bridge, now that I had
            stopped to watch: in parti-
colored clothes thick crowds were
            streaming west to the end-
of-the-day trains. Now, I
            know the workday undoes
so many, but here I
            could see them, see us all,
just when mostly with but
            a little against each
other we were all tired
            and crossing right and wrong
ways to get over the
            Monroe St. bridge west (or
Madison St. bridge east).

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