Poem | Springtime in Chicago in November

Springtime in Chicago in November.
My forty-first year to heaven.
My left hand wants to know
what my right hand is doing.
Oh. Sorry I asked.

First comes love, which I disparage.
I blight with plagues a baby-carriage.
Green means go and red means red.
Now we’re cooking with Sudafed.

Steer by, deerfly. I hereby declare
the deer tick on my derriere
a heretic. Derelict, hunker down.
Get the Led out, Goodman Brown.

Get thee behind me, Nathan.
Horseman, ramble on.
Springtime snows white hairs on me.
Green means go and go means gone.

About the Author

Michael Robbins is the author of the poetry collections Alien vs. Predator (Penguin, 2012) and The Second Sex (Penguin, forthcoming). He’s at work on a collection of criticism, Equipment for Livingforthcoming from Simon & Schuster.
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