Loafers This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

January 3, 2011
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As he tripped upon my lace
The lace he tied himself
He throttled out the front door
To join the corporate race

He lightly tossed me underneath
The rocking subway’s bench
On his feet we met the day
Chicago’s charming stench

He taps me in a Starbuck’s line
Upon newspaper’s glass
He crouches beneath Tribune signs
To rearrange his mask

From his pocket he withdraws
Shoe polish in a can
He tightens wing-nuts in his jaw
And cufflinks his shirt band

His greasy hair slicks into place
Shines in a bathroom mirror
To conform – one last polished touch
Black smears across my face

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