poem twenty-seven

Leaving Chicago
It’s a lot like leaving home

At least it was

The snow
Chilling me to the bone
As I get on the bus alone

The snow-covered rooftops of suburbia pass me by

City lights
Father’s rights
The businessman
The bum

I leave it behind
Only to find

More snow
Chilling me to the bone
As I get off the bus alone

City lights
Father’s rights
The businessman
The bum

Faces I recognize
That’s where my heart lies

And the funny thing about it is I’m home
But what I call home isn’t home
Not actually

I wander to wonder
And vice versa

If home is where you hang your hat
Then I suppose I’m hatless

But, honestly, what do I care?
I’ve always liked the wind in my hair.