Chicago -
By J.J. Tindall
A MODEST PROPOSAL
It is a melancholy object to those
who walk through this great city-state
to see the streets, roads and tavern doors
littered with inconvenient and foul-smelling
human debris. As to my own part,
having turned my thoughts upon this
important subject, weary with offering
vain, idle, visionary thoughts,
Posted on April 22, 2008
By J.J. Tindall
COME BACK TO THE FIVE AND DIME BAG, STU LEVINE, STU LEVINE
Back, come back: you can blame it all on me.
I was wrong and I just can’t live without you.
You are my Poster Boy! Lovely: the polished image
of suburban Caucasian
propriety. MY MAN!
Wide lawns, narrow blinds, freshly-washed SUVs
stocked with
Miley Cyrus DVDs.
Goddam! Sure: goddam the Pusher Man.
Posted on April 10, 2008
By J.J. Tindall
MIGHTY SANTO AT THE BAT (THE CUBS WILL SHINE IN ’69)
The Outlook was quite brilliant for the Wrigley nine
that day,
my first Official Cubs game and I didn’t have to pay.
The paperboys of Naperville were on their yearly
outing,
Ice cream, hot dogs, popcorn, fanatical screaming and
shouting.
Destined for the playoffs, the Cubs weren’t frightened
of Atlanta,
our fearsome starting line-up felt the Pennant all but
granted.
The pure green field and outfield vines did shimmer in
the sun,
and we paperboys were confident the contest would be
won.
Posted on March 25, 2008
By J.J. Tindall
THE GOVERNOR’S WHORE
I think that I shall never see a poem nauseating
as a fake, business-arrangement marriage.
Thank CHRIST the truth comes out once in awhile,
like, nauseatingly self-righteous assholes and their
LOUSY, miserable marriages, with which they seize
the moral
high ground, looking down their noses at single men
and women who just happened to decide NOT TO BE
FUCKING MISERABLE . . .
Posted on March 20, 2008
By J.J. Tindall
PINDARIC ODE TO EVERETT McKINLEY DIRKSEN
My man: you make Chicago proud.
Nobody, dude, and I mean NOBODY, remembers who you are.
I fucking do:
Horse-trading, WITH CIVILITY,
with LBJ over bourbon,
trading judges for votes.
Posted on March 13, 2008
By J.J. Tindall
GIMME BACK MY BULLETS
Put ’em back where they belong.
I ran to a gangfight and a
classroom broke out. HO-la!
I shouted out
DRUGS FOR
WHITEY!!!
Posted on March 11, 2008
By J.J. Tindall
AFTER MIDNIGHT IN THE LATIN QUARTER
At midnight, the weather broke
in two, and warmth gushed in. I and I
were flushed out into the night.
I floated down North Avenue,
walking past a number of selves –
one drunk, hammered, maybe nineteen –
through the Latin Quarter.
Along the blue-black thoroughfare:
dollar stores, Mexican restaurants,
liquor stores, Puerto Rican restaurants,
Posted on March 5, 2008
By J.J. Tindall
DUDES
I dream about Scott Tuma*
every night, have for years.
Irrigation, with air.
Dudes: I need
a bike.
Dudes: Let’s smoke one.
Posted on February 21, 2008
By J.J. Tindall
SONNET: IT’S NEVER ENOUGH, DEAR
How I disappoint you, Mother, having
done the right thing again. Let me count the
ways! Uno: it is never enough. Dos:
never enough AGAIN, Sister, Brother,
Honey Bunches of Oats (all rights reserved).
Like a summer’s day! “Oi, it’s so hot out!”
Tres: you are responsible for making
yourself happy. LET ME COUNT THE WAYS! I’ve
got them motherfucking memorized, dear.
Smookums: smoke a joint and take a bath. Then
a large slackburger with cheese do cut me.
Now I’m going to get down on my knees:
Only those we love get the brunt of the
hurt in our own souls we keep from seeing.
Posted on February 19, 2008
By J.J. Tindall
I DREAMED I SAW ST.VALENTINE
I was cornered near Lincoln Park
by the Unholy Three: Gov. Blah-Blah-Blah-vich,
Speaker Mad Again and President Stroker.
They threatened to crank my Juice payment or
take away my buses and hospitals. “Gee whiz,
fellas!” I sputtered as they clenched their fat
fists around my whiny throat. Then suddenly came a
chorus
of angels, and a bright light broke through the ashen
clouds.
Like a great bald eagle, with the visage of Tony
Peraica,
Posted on February 14, 2008
