miles varana
Waukegan
North Chicago suburbs: scrap of light on the rehab kitchen, kielbasa,
softball cults drinking by the lakeshore, echoes of 80s mall concerts,
pretty femmes in hairnets coming home from work, rusty Chevy
Novas kept off the cinder blocks by Polish boys in Jordan jerseys,
balcony parties and arrests, tears for the Oscar Mayer Weinermobile
spun-out on Edison. Run away from rehab with a fake mustache
and a pair of blue Chuck Taylors and lend your heart to this place, and
you could win second prize in a beauty contest, just like I did.
Grace
I read the Atlantic,
watch Succession,
have seen fear in
a handful of rich guys.
But before we
eat, these words:
tomorrow the
only haves and
have nots will
be those who have
caught a T-shirt
from a T-shirt cannon
at a Vanilla Ice
show and those
who have not.