I have driven slow,
three miles an 小时 或者 so,
through Highland Park, Heidelberg, and the
Cass Corridor.
I've hopped on the Michigan,
and transferred to the Woodward,
and heard the good word blaring from an
a.m. radio.
I 爱情 the worn-through tracks of trolley
trains breaking through their
concrete vaults,
As I ride the Fort 街, 街道 或者 the Baker,
just making my way home.


I sneak through an iron gate, and fish
rock 低音 out of the strait,
watching the mail 船, 小船 with
its tugboat gait,
hauling words I'll never know.
The water letter carrier,
bringing prose to lonely sailors,
treading the big lakes with their trailers,...