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The mansions on North Broadway are the real
thing. An hour’s
Walking tour, and you’d barely begin the survey of the anatomy
And taxonomy of the crenellations of the chimneys, the history
Of the forms leisure takes, brick by brick, from the hands
Of those less so. You’d need the time to study it, which is why
The speed limit is low, but the traffic’s expected to keep moving;
A slow trawl past these blocks is what the neighborhood watch
Is watching for. The point is to be impressed and go home,
Since this is a tourist economy, and transience is a virtue
I share, teaching as a visitor, enjoying the facades without much
Reference to the interiors; it’s as comfortable as an unopened
Volume of James on the nightstand. To get here, like my friend said,
Could take five minutes or as many generations of immigrant
Striving and unbelievable luck, and it’s just mine
To be heading to work after breakfast on a fine fall day, and forget
Until the last quick turn that I need to hit the bank for money
And one coffee shop or another, so why not park downtown
And walk the rest of the way. Well, you know that feeling
Of being a guest at the country club: someone’s signing
The chit for the drinks and someone else has the wine list
Well in hand, but as soon as the talk turns to politics…
When I took my kids to Hyde Park and the Roosevelt’s charming
Old-deal house, I saw all the antique furniture my parents had saved,
Upstairs where the servants lived. That’s the anecdote
I pull out at times like this, hoping to show a little class, but
You’d be surprised how no one gets it, or maybe not
At how polite the silence after is.
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