Looking at a city on the surface only shows you one single image. Underneath it all, a city is a separate world. What if the city was nothing more than a nature preserve for people? Each citizen an ant working and carrying on in their daily lives as little ants do. And the buses, they can be the caterpillars of the streets, inching along, s l o w l y in search of their next meal, or in this case, the next stop. The city is where you can pluck plastic bags from tress like fruit and loose papers fly like birds through the air. The actual birds, pigeons mostly, are the sickness of the city, parasites. Taking and not giving …stupid pigeons… The streets are the tunnel crafted by the ants, twisted between and beside their artfully crafted tower. Oh the wonders a suburban girl sees when she meets the big city.
A poem crafted upon my combined first experience of New York and Chicago.