March

A flurry floats

down Adams Street

on the second day of March.

Snowflakes paw

at the passing cars like

cats, unobserved

by the drivers who

ignore white lines to dodge

pedestrians, bursting

like unguarded sneezes

into the street.

A snowflake lands

on the tip of

a boy’s nose and

he smiles at the sky.

His mother holds

his hand and stares

at the crossing signal,

while father’s eyes

dart across the ads

pyramiding from

the tops of taxi cabs.

No one on the street

wears a hat. They

do not notice the falling

of snow. Inside the

transparent lobby

of the Sears Tower

there are four

groupings of tall trees.

Above them Man

defeats Nature

with a jet-black gesture

jutting into

the dandruffy sky.

The father puts his hand

up to the glass of

the chimpanzee exhibit

at the Zoo. The chimp

puts his hand up

to meet his better brother.

He screeches violently,

bangs on the glass

as the family steps back

just a tad. The child cries.

“He’s just excited

to see us.” laughs the dad,

biting into a banana.

The ape will die

in his cage. The child

will never understand.

And for years that boy

will furrow his brow

in front of the television

every time the Energizer

bunny bangs his drum

and sounds the endless

March of Man.

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