A regular at my readings asked me to write a poem about dinosaurs. It was a tall glass of water after being on my feet working behind the bar all morning. For those out of the loop, Sue is a Dinosaur who haunts the Field Museum here. I did indeed get to see her the year first met the public, so this poem gets the red tape of FACT wrapped around its neck.
Poem for Sue the Dinosaur: Foe of Despair (may this city always be a home worthy of her)
The first time I came near the Loop
I saw Sue. I was six, mollusk sized,
but even my father was taken aback
by the predatory indifference implied
in her yonic sainthood. Death crowned
immortality like a top hat, Tyrannosauruses'
last stand against the skyscrapers. That was that.
I wasn't much of a dino kid: I preferred
Art over Field. American Gothic precocious
even at that age. The pre-apocalyptic
canon that inhabit these museums
never took their eyes off me.
Blume blossomed something
in my liver no academy can fix.
Odd I don't remember Dorian.
Onwards after that, Gotham meant
two things to me: art
and fangs, gridlocked. Whimsical
bloodlust strictly American. I moved
to Chicago nearly two years ago -
my opinion remains unchanged.
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