The El at Night: A Poem

Outside the Keg, I loosed a sigh,
The frigid air cut to my core.
“It should be spring,” I dared to cry,
“Still freezing cold! Chi-town! You whore!”

It was past one, a Friday night,
And dark as Tisdahl’s crumpled heart.
I felt my mind flood then with fright,
For I had quite a trek to start.

Though I had drank with all my boys
I had forgotten what I’d known.
For I lived North, At Sherman-Noyes,
And now, alas, I was alone.

I gazed upon the road ahead
Its passage paved with glacial air
And thought, “I would rather be dead,
Then walk the way from here to there.”

But dare I face the other choice?
A risky move at better times!
“Just call safe ride!” rang out a voice!
“Or Anything! Except the El!”

But I ignored that fateful call
And soon I found myself again,
Inside an almost empty hall
Of rattling steel, upon the train.

I say ‘almost’ for there was one
Who sat across the car from me.
He sat as silent as a nun,
His forehead resting on his knee.

“Only two stops,” I muttered then.
“Yes! Only two, and then I’m home.”
Oh hope, how you do toy with men!
Alas, if I had only known!

For as the train began to fly
And travel North, to bare me hence,
This other man, he met my eye
With such a glare to give offense.

And then he stood and turned, and sort
Of slowly, he began to stride
Along the aisle, stopping short
Of where I sat; of where I cried.

For I had seen a dreadful sight!
A sight most terrible and crude.
He was riding the El at night,
Completely and utterly nude!

At last the train came to a stop
At Foster: one stop short of mine.
I lept from my seat with a hop,
And found myself, at 1:09,

Back on the road, to walk the rest.
For I had seen a gruesome scene,
And I had learned that it is best,
To stagger home in moonlight’s gleam.

Remember this! Please hear my cries,
And save yourself a horrid fright.
That comes from seeing naked guys,
Who ride the el here, late at night!