Untitled Summer’s Day (Poems Written With You in Mind)
There’s a certain connectedness
growing at the intersection of the cool wind hitting from the eastern shore,
the Sun warming two beers restful in my belly,
and the crooning voice of Robert Johnson.
all sitting in the glow of an imperfect town.
They may stay a while,
and sometimes they’ll up’n leave.
I’ll say this: the first time the chaotic rumbling of the train overhead
fails to send goosebumps running through my veins—
I’ll hit the bricks.
Which is to say,
I’ll stick around as long as you’ll take me or leave me.
In a shady spot surrounded by it all
I can hear a dozen different languages—
yet a force transcending carries the whisper of the skyscrapers and they’re all saying:
“I am big, you are small.
Give history enough time,
she’ll forget us
Adam Gunther lives in the Uptown neighborhood of Chicago and writes poetry.