A wind from off the lake rattles the fringe
of dry vines entwined about a rusted fence.
Beyond the fence are vacant prairie lots.
The hand of time erased the work done here.
Two thousand years ago Ampelicon of Rome
saved the scrolls of Aristotle from a cellar
where only mice and spiders could roll them
out to read--his work still lasts for us today.
But not here: the money making and the love
making are nowhere to be seen or heard.
How sure the wealthy were that it would last:
their daily vintage and their perfumed baths.
But where is the auburn hair he loved to touch?
It's turned to straw, along with calfskin slippers
that stepped on marble stairs and all the plans
to bank their interest and their dividends.
The dancers on the music box have twirled away
to dust, just like the mansions of their heart.
Not far to walk, the beggars squat below the L
then push their rags in a wobbly shopping cart.
.The Lost Houses of Praire Avenue
Robert Klein Engler is a poet who lives in Chicago and New Orleans. He is a writer and artist whose work is sometimes characterized as politically incorrect.