La Farge

I can.

Um, I chose the poem "La Farge" by poet Helene Acensar, who's a Chicago poet.

Cool.

"La Farge": A poet draws a map of Wisconsin, which means it's a soft rectangle with a line for the Rock River running through, a state of perfect winters and drunk imagination, where at night the roadside supper club hums a blurred red, lost in the rearview to white-out snow.

I sleep through the blizzard and a birthday party, then wake mumbling sorry.

What greater offense than to waste a celebration dreaming? At daybreak, my boys walk the cliffs with a wind chill of 30 below.