doug draime | searching for nelson algren & dearborn sation chicago

Searching For Nelson Algren

spitting blood
into the fog
along the chicago
river, under
the michigan
avenue bridge
four in the morning
one cold dark
night

two fingers on
my left hand
broken
all my
knuckles bleeding,
drinking a half
pint of
jim beam
straight down

staggering &
looking up
through the fog
at the
lopsided
man in the moon

a tug boat
down river
toots twice
as i
make it up
the steps
to the
boulevard

& head over
to an
all night dive
on clark street
for more
of the
same

Dearborn Station Chicago

Sanchez

1970’s
skateboard
attached by
bongie cord

to his
ragged
plaid backpack

100 pounds
overweight

perpetually
huffing &
puffing

like death
walking
down a
steep incline

Matt, the Gimp

peg-legged
one-eyed
his one
good
eye dull-grey
& watering

his wooden
peg sharpened
into a spear

rolling Velvet
pipe
tobacco

into tight little
smokes

sitting with
his peg out

on the radiator
next to

the women’s
restroom

Zack & Ruby

all up in
my face
with foul
breath
& blood
shot eyes.
his girl

Ruby
behind him
like a
Siamese
Twin, her
pretty face
plastered
up against

Zack’s
back like
there was
only one
idiot
& not
two of ‘em,

always hustling
for bennies, cigs
or coffee
money.

Jonnie “Mac” Brown

a scar
as long
& wide
as a
healthy
banana

curved down
her right
forearm

a gashing
deep ravine
of pink
into her
beautiful
black flesh

smiling &
spinning in
slow
semicircles

whispering
her own
name

Hope

your
only
fuck-
ing
hope
here
is
find-
ing
the
peace
of
this
mo-
ment

jump-
ing
on
and
ridd-
ing
it
to
the
end
of
the
line

where
the
dream
ends
and
you
begin
to
be
what
you
have
always
been