The city rises like
spikes on a polygraph,
steel, granite, concrete
piercing gray
clouds like needles.
Far below, spokes
in the American wheel
bustle, bundled in black
wool long coats, green striped
scarves and leather gloves,
braced against cutting
wind, blowing flags to
attention along
Michigan Avenue.
Money pours in behind
brass encased doors with
etched glass. Coffee,
dinner, entertainment,
drinks, daily prices
of a Million Dollar Mile.
Sacrificing the future
for the present, the
spokes strain to turn
the wheel, terrified of
being crushed or left
behind by the master
they have created.