Steel

Steel                                                                Craig Teichen

Chicago coughs up its weather to shore or a garden through its cries,

putting its winter lock on the harbor with a pick-up of wind and a sudden surprise,

searching always for its son or daughter,

flapping its wings through a thousand gulls as it laughs at its face and the calmness

of water,

there in its winter depth or summer sweat:  the traffic on the Outer Drive,

here hard and heavy as the traffic gets and while its buildings are alive,

standing tough and ready, the soccer fields, all the talent the lakefront grooms,

in city hall the gavel yields, Chicago, through its steel, blooms