Shameless Hack on Patricia Smith: Part Two McHack's Revenge!

Why Chicago Is

Warm whiskey pours forth from the deep speaker cone,
Three brothers peel the soul and rhythm from their women
Songs from Waters, Wells, Willie, Williamson. They look side to side
Feeling the full force of the real Blues they can put into you
By living in that electric lake of paying dues and playing for us.
They work for their tall shoulders and sweat gin.

This is why Chicago is—
To tell of gravel gut and heart with style,
The reason not to confuse it’s the real Home of the Blues,
The remaining refuge Robert would say still looked Blue
Blue and blue alone, not soaked in neon pink and steel guitars,
Or jaded in mold of stagnant river mouth runoff.
Its people who still need to work and build wrought iron bridges—
Sing at the base of skyscrapers,
Thin Jim Beam on the train,
Or nab them a Coog who still looks good.

The bars will never close, the wind neither and beats thumps,
The guitar goes from waggin’ its dick in your face
To gently holding controlled sobs.
We breathe the free air till dawn,
And clink our wrenches against the rust,
Atlasing O’Hare or Hancock on our big shoulders.
each river gently flowing will hit the commercial tree and rolls rapids.
And we say hard vowels: at least a real lot, yeah, constantly.