Three Chicago Poems

So before I decided anything, I had to figure out what my Chicago story was and there wasn’t just one answer to this. I thought a lot about talking about why I ended up in Chicago. It would have been almost like a backstory to me ended with coming to Chicago. But I realized that just because I made it to Chicago my life wasn’t roses, so instead of doing serious character piece about myself prior to Chicago, I wanted to focus on my life in Chicago.

The Food

Looking up ‘n down the street at pizza joints

Like they’re galleries,

This city’s like an

International cavalcade of calories.

Friends tell me of their man,

for Ramen,

Or who’s the worst,

When it comes to bratwurst.

But I’m no foodie,

I don’t dig sushi,

Not a fan of linguine,

And don’t talk to me about my weenie,

I don’t understand a Chicago style dog,

I just need ketchup,



Don’t make me sickle,

With that pickle,

Don’t assault it

with a celery salting.

Just give me a Fenway Frank,

And frankly,

And I know you think that your deep dish,

Is delish,

But it’s too much,

Give me thin crust.

My girlfriend wants to eat her food,

Without taking lives,

I just want to eat pizza

Without forks and knives,

Why does food need to be so complicated?

It’s too big,

It’s too much,

It’s too all at once.

They say that food represents the place it comes from,

So maybe it’s no surprise,

That when dining in Chicago,

One’s mind may call no go,

Because this whelmed is done,


Exquize me,

My lines are getting quite cheesy,

Food metaphors aside,

This city’s complex,

South Loop or South Side,

Especially to me,

Coming in,

From the outside.


The Victory

Have you ever heard a thousand feet,

As they hit concrete,

Unified in one feeling?

Have you ever felt a hundred years,

Of misfortune turn around,

In one simple moment?

Have you ever stood with a dozen friends,

As the sky cries champagne tears,

And cry along with it?

Have you ever dogged glass bottles,

Then regret wearing shorts,

When you pick a shard out of your calf?

Have you ever gotten elbowed right between the eyes,

As you’re trying to move through a crowd,

And you don’t know where it came from?

Have you ever had a friend jump in the back of a random truck,

As it drives along a mobbed street,

Then walk half a block to find them?

Have you ever have a firework lit between your knees,

Only to have your friend tackle you out of harm’s way,

Then wonder if you should name your first born after them?

Have you ever been in Wrigleyville when the Cubs win in all?

Because if you haven’t,

let me tell you a few things.



The Cold

The snow falls softly over the city rooftops,

Busy still the roads as cars tremble along,

Humans bundled in multilayer outfits,

Loose their natural shape.

Winds carry in off the lake,

Howl down the busy city road,

And strike frozen arrows,

Into padded human targets.

Yet I am not cold.

The black charred furnace of my,

Broken bitter heart beats furious,

For love long missed.

Though newfound friends tend,

The gentle warmth within,

None shall ever replace her spark.

On the lonely weekend,

Being an insufferable shut in,

I sit and think a whiles,

About the many miles,

That lay between us now,

How I wish I was the wind,

To shed my padded shell of warmth,

To fly smooth like an arrow across the miles,

To howl my affections for all to hear,

To carry over the might lakes,

To be not bound by shape, body, or road.

But alas I am not the wind,

So I am here,


Watching the snow fall softly over city rooftops. (Connor Hevey/CoS Student)


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