without his glasses

i.
pretty blond woman with
towering shoes like
towering buildings
that eat her up
(and spit her out)
and she makes the end of each day
pretty and blond, still
but one more might be too much

ii.
she walks away from franklin's park
where at night, just heels
and the morning smog wraps wreaths of
desperation around the winding lines of the homeless
cold, bundled, hungry

iii.
but the stone arches
and the pedestals (both stone and air)
shine in the momentary sunlight
and it reflects off the gold curve of the roof
to remind us all of this
once
great
nation
and then this is where the inaugural speech will be:

iv.
mr. obama, president sir
play a song for me.

v.
we can talk
as we walk
all we want
as we wait,
running late
running not-at-all
running through the mall.

vi.
shadows of streetlamps
though it's bright day
the right is white
the unspoken say
but the masses, the masses
come out to play.

vii.
future ruins.
shakespeare or angry,
we can never win, because just going home
and i saw it again
she fell out of the building, cursing from the church
picking through the trash
hoping for the worst.

viii.
we can preserve the magna carta
it can make girls like me cry
but we can't save this city
if there's nothing left but pity
and nobody will tell me why.

ix.
(but i miss you too damn much
to do anything but sigh.)

x.
we can go back, someday, maybe
to stare at underappreciated art
and throw coins at the men throwing their life away,
catch that
and give it back.