Down under the streets of the city,
Lower Wacker, Lower Michigan,
each 146 and 136 and 151 bus
rolling overhead
shakes the river with thunder.
Down under your umbrella,
raincoat, galoshes,
each raindrop that yet splatters your glasses
magnifies (with bug eyes)
the blind spots of lightning cracks.
Down under the dim ceiling,
harsh lighting, soft psyche,
each one of our perfect quirks
(cataloged surreptitiously)
melts obediently away in this rain.
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