Swans in the Sewers
Chicago’s got coal delivery caverns underneath, with fiberoptic cable unspooled mile on mile, handpegged by headlamp-donned install techs in woolen overalls. Gotta pass through iron doors in concrete walls that keep the floods from penetrating: you die so your buddy doesn’t. No animals down there. No algaes. No nothin but dust, hanging in the air, it never settles, just hangs there in constellations, milky and weightless. Chicago’s got that, New York’s got swans in their sewers; what do we got? Just momma yellin and a tax bill in the postbox.