Each day I drive through the tunnel ‘o green, over the bridge, flanked on the right by the beating sun
Into the city, with skinny lanes and circles upon circles, toward the monuments with their greek columns
the same two homeless men who now nod and smile when they see my car because we are friends–
Friends who meet early each day at the same stop sign,
sighing as we pass,
This city of mine, the one who’s stood by me even on days, sometimes years when I took it for granted,
Her prodigal child returned last August, kicking and screaming then gently lulled back to life.
Each day I drive through the same tunnel ‘o green, past my two waving friends and into my city; my loyal mother.
