Christmas In Chicago

Christmas In Chicago

I miss Christmas in Chicago though
I have never been in Chicago on Christmas
Only just before which is beautiful
Or just after which is sadder either way
I like to walk up Michigan from the museum
Over bridges that cross over
Water somehow colder than if it were ice
To the Magnificent Mile where all
The shops I can’t afford are
There’s no charge for looking in the windows
I can look at the mannequins for as long 
As I wish to they are free to me
Even if they themselves are such captives
Of capitalism they will only escape
The window displays when the shape
Of their featureless faces and bodies
Seems to the manager to have fallen out of style
Through the great revolving doors 
Of such stores burst girls laughing with bags
At the bottom of which receipts curl
Like strips of birch bark in north woods
They couldn't picture if they tried
The last four numbers are the last 
Four numbers of their fathers’ credit cards
How good she will smell later tonight
In the suburbs in her black Falconeri turtleneck
Next to the fragrant tree with a glass
Of white wine in which the last 
Sliver of an ice cube wanes 
From the warmth of her hands 
No one can say I can’t imagine that
Actually someone could say that
I can’t imagine that
But to whoever says that 
I say I can