The shape of a city is geometric;
tall straight lines, blocks of stone,
cubes and triangles filled with rows
of blank windows overlooking
flashes of movement, of color, face
of a young man ponytailed, his drab
loose shirt flapping, of an old mon
in a grey coat scowling, of a young
woman, her dark hair and long legs
flying, of a business suit on his cell,
back of another resoluely striding,
a slow black woman in an orange
caftan pushing a red stroller. Masses
undulating, parading, some pulsing
ahead, some falling behind.
And everywhere you hear a dizzying
cacophony of trolly rttles, engines
revving, trucks beeping, car horns
blaring, men shouting, and female
calls reverberating throughout
the undulating, crowded, narrow
corridors under those soaring,
glaring, competing skyscrapers.
won a First Place in Chicago Diversity Division,
Poets & Patrons 2018 Poetry Contest
first published in Illinois State Poetry Society
©2018 Bonnie Manion