Time To Remember Iii Poem by Morgan Michaels

He had a list of architectural marvels, starting with the Sullivan buildings (and Adler, of course) that he little doubted he'd get to.

'Amazing', he thought, 'how so bright a light could wind up on skid row. That's life', he said.

Chicago was even colder than Pittsburg. Every breath shot reams of steam, into the space ahead. Somewhere, Donnie had lost a glove. He couldn't decide if he should wear the unlost one, suspecting it might make the bare hand colder. Waiting in the cab queue, the wind gnawed the gloveless hand. He thrust it into his pocket for protection. Then, their turn came. Baggage thrown into the trunk, they piled in, but kept their cloth-bound PC's in their laps. The cab doors slammed shut, one after the other.

'Best Western', directed Donnie, leaning forward then slumping tiredly against the backrest, 'Michigan Avenue'.

The grey, hung-over city was struggling awake, trying to re-interest itself in business put away before the New Year's revelry.On the whole, it was quiet.

'Where's the courthouse', Donnie asked the driver, politely, through the divider, appending 'Sir' to the question, finally. He wanted to be ready, and felt like Napoleon surveying Waterloo before the battle.


'You guys from out of town'?

'New York', replied Donnie, briskly. He expected the answer might subdue the driver's cheek and put him on guard, as it was no fool asking, clearly, no tourist. But, it did not.

'That way', replied the cabbie, nodding up a cross street, with hard-to-discern interest. But he straightaway guessed the relevance of the question. Donnie stared in the direction of the nod. Far away, through the thinly falling snow, he spotted a plaza he thought was the Municipal Center.

They sped along the Park.....