Skyline

At five o'clock

I've seen the darkness piled up along Michigan Avenue

Spangled like a toe-dancer's skirt,

Decorated like a page in a mediaeval missal:

At five o'clock,

Just before they've all gone hone-

The young clerks and stenographers

Who live in five-room flats,

With someone sleeping on the davenport

And someone dragged off the day-bed in the dining-room

before breakfast.

The Miss Somebodys, .

With thin lips and coiffure arranged to cover the hair-line,

Who have been with the firm twenty years.

The young men,

With next week's pay in the cabaret cash-register,

And the cheerful credit.

The dark-eyed buyers

For ladies' ready-to-wear,

Who came out of Russia

With a shawl over their heads |

And a cross on their backs.

("Miss Aggie, will I keep that beaded georgette

In the 'will call'?

That big blondy didn't come for it yet.")

Just before they've all gone home,

And the lights along the avenue

Let go of the shapes of darkness

Held in their golden meshes

Like a princess' soft hair in a jewelled net.

Michigan Avenue,

Set with lights,

Rayed in the new dark like the Star of Bethlehem,

Arranged in design like the red and gold and blue of an

icon,

T have tried to call you something.

Till suddenly I know you for a gesture sufficient,

Needing no symbol.