Tomorrow’s Time
Tomorrow’s Time
Pieces of August
Saturday, August 1, 2020
Island Girl
The last hippie staggers up Michigan Avenue, the Indian statues towering in her shadow, poised to launch their arrows into the summer darkness. The Indians know they will not fall.
There is no revolution, she says to each statue’s memory. There is no anomaly. There is only what is preordained and carved into the granite, the marble, the water, and the rock music that has been blaring since before there was rock music, before there was Chicago, before there were Indians or devils or Gods or curses.
The last hippie laughs as she walks north on Michigan Avenue as August’s first rain welcomes her, cleanses her, the roar of the train both near and far at the same time. –TK
Saturday, August 1, 2020