Dumpsters filled to brim, buckthorn needs a trim;
Technicolor oil circles the drain, ozone alert brings the pain.
Seagulls and cigarette butts adorn big box parking lot’s winter morn.
Mourning, the Idealist hits the gas, wants to drive where what’s past
flies by the window, clocks running in reverse—
death in the delivery room, birthed in a hearse.
Reverse the flow, reroute the river to north from south,
Unbuild the dams, unsilt the river mouths.
Give voice to rude Nature—an Indian whoop;
climate change defanged, gone the feedback loop.
Land becomes “unimproved,” trees built from houses,
Animals outnumber us, men become mouses.
Hunter and hunted now equal rivals,
Hunting for dinner a game of survival—
May the best species win, and often it’s not us—
The Idealist is eaten awaiting the State Street bus.
Freddy Flow 
What then, would happen to my favorite bar in Bucktown???
LikeLike
“Bucktown” would be renamed “Buckskintown,” and the bar would become a sandbar.
What is your favorite bar, by the way?
LikeLike
Lotties, formerly Bushia’s Polish Pub on Courtland and Winchester… that was 20 years ago… I’ve heard is is a yuppie bar now. I lived next door and worked there.
LikeLike
Wow, never heard of that one… but yes, all is super-yuppiefied now.
LikeLike
Do you live in Chicago, Mr. Flow?
LikeLike
Yep, sure do! Er, the near western suburbs, to be precise. Tonight I was at the Tonic Room on Halsted in Lincoln Park listening to some great hip hop.
LikeLike
I like it – turn back the hands of time, get closer to the primordial slime!
LikeLike