See-ums
This year they are the size
of permanent marker dots left
on the bottom of weather charts
tracing the paths of smoke
from Canadian wildfires
hundreds of miles to the north.
Hazy mornings promise relief-
storm clouds that might come,
but stinging ash hovers in the fields.
Do you love me, Chicago?
You ask, does Chicago
love me?
And I say,
Chicago loves me
like a tight guitar solo,
fingers tap dancing rapid-fire
arpeggios that tattoo
the fretboard of my soul.
And you sneer, will Chicago
always be true?
And I yell back, listen,
Chicago will stick with me
like an Italian beef sandwich.
I feel the hot peppers in my dreams;
they wrench me out of bed,
dump me on the cold, hard floor.
I can tell you how I feel
Chicago’s love if you’d pay attention–
It tastes like stolen kisses in the back seat
of a Chevy sedan, her tongue
pressed tight against my lips.
I hear Chicago’s love,
in the cool spring breeze
blowing off Lake Michigan,
soothing my brow even
when she breaks my heart.
Frank C. Modica is a retired teacher and cancer survivor who taught children with special needs for over 34 years. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Dust Poetry, New Square, Sheila-Na-Gig, and Lit Shark. Frank’s first chapbook, What We Harvest, nominated for an Eric Hoffer book award, was published in the fall of 2021 by Kelsay Books. His second chapbook, Old Friends, was published this past December by Cyberwit Press.
