The following can also be found in the book Chicago Stories 1998. Click here to learn more, and to download a free electronic copy.

(Written September 28, 1998, the night Sammy Sosa hit his 62nd home run of the season)

Somewhere in America, right now,
a woman is watching WGN
on her cable system
waiting to see if Sammy Sosa will hit a few more
out of the park
before the season ends
and she will think
of the man
in Chicago
who she has not thought of
in about four years.
She will wonder how he's doing
and remember
that the last time she spoke to him
he said he lived
about a five minute walk from Wrigley Field
and she will wonder
if she can see his apartment
each time they show a shot
from the blimp

Somewhere in America, right now,
a man is watching ESPN
waiting to see if this will be the
Year of the Cubs
a phrase he is already sick of
and it's not even the playoffs yet
and he will think of
the woman
who left him
to move to Chicago
She wanted to be in a band
she said
and besides
this town is crushing me
she said
and besides
you're crushing me
she said
She called last about two years ago
and talked about someplace called Wicker Park
and how the yuppies were taking it over
can't even find a decent lush bar anymore for Chrissakes
I mean, even fucking Urge Overkill moved out
for the love of God
and the man will sit in front of his television
and slowly get drunk over the course of four hours
and repeatedly tip his bottle
in the air
and toast the magical woman
he lost his virginity to
and wonder if she's died of heroin
yet

Somewhere in America, right now,
a man is riding an elevated train
covered with brightly covered posters
advertising rum
marketed to Latinos
and he will look out his bulletproof window
and see the 60,000 people
huddled close together
the 12,000 people
spread out on the concrete below
the lights catching them all
in mid-photograph
and for some reason
that the man cannot explain
(and would not even if he could)
he suddenly breaks into tears
loud, long, wet tears
that come so regularly
that soon he will give up
the attempt
of hiding them
from his fellow passengers
and the man will watch the ballpark
slowly squirm away from him again
the other, not-so-nice neighborhoods
looming up before him
like so many tarot cards
laid down to tell his fortune
against his will
and he will wonder why he is here
and what the hell he's going to do
and why this city seems to
choke the
very breath
out of his lungs

Somewhere in America, right now,
an entire nation
watches Chicago
hog the spotlight

again

an entire nation
watches a ball
actually go sailing out of a ballpark
which will surprise most
Out of the ballpark
How bout that
They had always thought that was a metaphor
or an old Bugs Bunny cartoon
Right out of the ballpark
and into the street below
where 12,000
eager fans
are hungrily waiting

Somewhere in America, right now,
people are wondering about this city
appearing on their television screens
they will wonder about nicknames
they don't understand
big shoulders
green onions
windy cities
and they will wonder
if their friends are okay

And you and I,
we will know the answer.