The Worst Kind of Liar

The Worst Kind of Liar

Early winter snows pile and gather
Hushing Chicago
The way a mother hushes her baby.

The buses will still
Belch diesel 
Groaning at every corner.

Tomorrow
The steady tramp 
Of thousands of cold and wet feet
Will again beat
As any army 
In route step
Up and down State Street
And Lower Wacker.

But this morning
The skies are butter milk

And the buildings
Boulevards 
And avenues
Are comely in their blazing
Gowns of pretended purity.

They are all
Whitewashed sepulchres.

What lies beneath
Are worn salt boxes
Drained whiskey bottles
That have one remaining swallow
Of lies and broken promises.

Sleeping in the snow      
Are the bodies
Of the dying
Their breath so shallow.

The death rattle begins for those
Who will go unremembered 
And unmourned
Some only fifty feet
From a rescue mission
Or emergency room.

The snow is beautiful this morning.
But do not buy its promises.
Fresh snows are the worst kind of liar.