Into the Future

Standing here just short of the corner
I grope by my side with fingertips
Against the rasping surface of brick.
If it had handholds I would hang on.
One move could ruin everything.
They would find my blood running down the wall.

In city times like these
One never retraces steps. Forward
Is the only direction. Bevond this corner
The wind gusts cold, coughing wave-
Whirls of dust along Michigan Avenue.
If I let go and turn the corner
What will come at me from my blind side?
A newspaper clutches at my leg and forces me on.