I took Fifth Street home last night—
two blocks back from the corner
store selling dry-mouth Camels
cheaper than the shop downtown.
Away from the newspaper boxes
selling the Gazette, Times,
Tribune, Post, Weekly, Daily,
Whatever for one dollar
and fifty cents a pop.

The crumbling sidewalks
took the glare of porch lights
and slid with 'em the length
of this rusted chain-link
fence spanning four yards,
three front doors, two
pipe railings, and a doghouse.

The ice salt sprinkled
from the stoops earlier that day
made the glasswalk melt
and bubble up, popping
like Christmas bulbs
beneath my shoes.