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Home > 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.

Issue: 
January 24, 2014 [1]
Tags
Poetry [2]
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 Living, forthcoming from Simon & Schuster.

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[1] https://www.commonwealmagazine.org/issues/2014-01-24 [2] https://www.commonwealmagazine.org/poetry [3] mailto:[email protected] [4] http://www.facebook.com/commonwealmagazine [5] http://www.facebook.com/sharer/sharer.php?u=https://www.commonwealmagazine.org/poem-springtime-chicago-november [6] https://twitter.com/intent/tweet?url=https://www.commonwealmagazine.org/poem-springtime-chicago-november [7] https://www.commonwealmagazine.org/print/35474