Cheese Pizza

Somewhere in West Chicago
watching from the window
of a coffee shop;
a slice of Americana,
like a slice of pizza,
passes by my view
from where I sit,
as if carried in a box
and on its way, and off it goes
paid for delivery,
wearing fully tailored suits
with highly polished shoes
or jeans with sneakers and
lots and lots of blue,
everywhere, blue;
blue dress shirts, or jackets
or polos embroidered
with Ralph Lauren,
or pumps that go
clickety click, click, click,
with skirts too short
for this October weather
in a city known for the wind.
Ah, how fascinating; this small
slice of Americana (no, just cheese),
when seen from a window
with my Starbucks espresso in hand.

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