from Dawn in Chicago
There is a stir across the slumbering city.
The wakeful turn toward sleep; the sleeping turn and tense
themselves for a few more minutes of forced,
desperate doze. The prostitutes on Clark Street and the
factory workers out south feel the lifting of the darkness.
Their day ends with day.
Taxi drivers circle closer to their barns
searching for the few fares–drunks, airline passengers
on their way to O’Hare and the world,
partygoers returning, tired showgirls, adulterers heading
home, and conventioners. In high rise apartments
thieves total up the night’s take. The musicians
from a hundred lounges, show bars, and girlie joints
finish their coffee and hit the streets heading
for a shower, a quick nap, and a second job. Chicago is the
city that works, and its working people are on the job
even at this changeling hour. Janitors, street cleaners,
milkmen, post office employees, el motormen
are gathering the energy to quit or come on duty.
These gray minutes move us more
than any other time.
—Richard Calisch
The father of Professor Emeritus of Art Doug Calisch, Richard Calisch was a high school English teacher, track coach, and poet. His books include I’ve Been Away So Many Lives, from which this poem was reprinted by permission, and Somehow All These Things Are Connected, which he named after Professor Calisch’s first solo exhibition at Wabash.