Chicago Time

Chicago Time, written in March, 2010

Surrounded by inky sky, I asked a stranger the time.
"I have to subtract an hour. I'm on New York time."
"You live there?" "No, I live here now."
"Keeps you less homesick?" A murmur, a nod, shy smile.
We set our watches by the beat of our hearts.
Jack Kerouac kept going home, "On the Road,"
and backbackback to Long Island.
If he'd worn a watch, it'd have been set on Long Island time.
Breaking it down, I'd say my time isn't just Chi time, could be
Uptown, Lakeview, Edgewater, Streeterville time.
Breaking time down into units, you know, one can.
Keroac, drunk on the road, became depressed,
in spite of a generation thinking he was cool,
the rootlessness freaked him.
He kept running home back back back to Long Island.
In the florid sun of Southern Cal, I remembered
Mauve sunrises over the lake.
I longed in moments of California garish
for silent inky Chicago sky.
Last night, walking alone through quiet Chi-town streets,
I looked into the sky, the moon round and clear, stars hand pick-able,
The sky, inky: a steady stretch of violet blue. Nothing flashy.
I looked at my watch: Chicago time.
I stood taller. I am home.
I strut in Chicago time.