“The Loop” on the radio

“The Loop” on the radio

The first interview about my upcoming book — The Loop:  The “L” Tracks That Shaped and Saved Chicago (SIU Press, November) — will be Sunday at 1:15 pm with Playtime book show hosts Bill Turck and Kerri Kendall. You can tune in online on Facebook...

Essay:  The After

Essay: The After

    I’ve started to think of it as The After.  I mean that time when it will be safe for me and the rest of the world to do all the stuff we used to do before Covid-19 showed up and ruined the party. The time after we’ve lived through...

Poem: Behind the mask

Poem: Behind the mask

  Behind the mask By Patrick T. Reardon   (mask)   Behind the museum glass, a polished marble scream, frozen, with large round eye openings, pale stone, gray as smoke, worn in ritual by one with sharp edge, honed for soft flesh...

Poem: “Go”

Poem: “Go”

  Go By Patrick T. Reardon In remembrance of Maggie Roche, Ben Scheinkopf, George Kresovich and David Reardon     Right onto Cermak from Harlem to go west, listening to the dead singer’s song from when she was young, from when I...

Poem:  The lost tribes, part 3

Poem: The lost tribes, part 3

  The lost tribes, part 3 By Patrick T. Reardon   The lost tribes found me alone as she and he stared into each other’s eyes. They found me with drool chafing my chin, a clump of flesh that nervoused her, carried by him like a bag of...

Poem: Word

Poem: Word

Word By Patrick T. Reardon   Declaw the lion King to a plaster saint. Declaw Lincoln to a penny. Declaw Francis to a birdbath.   Declaw the man with nails in his wrists. Pull claws from humbly proffered hands. Pull teeth. Pull the skin...

Poem: Saw you at the hop

Poem: Saw you at the hop

Saw you at the hop By Patrick T. Reardon   I was nine when I saw you through open eighth grade door — before you went to Army, to Europe, to Normandy Beach a week after D-Day, and hernia, and British nurse Betsie, and Germany, the camp...

Poem: “Goddess Dementia”

Poem: “Goddess Dementia”

  Goddess Dementia By Patrick T. Reardon   Goddess Dementia, come, waltz with me down gray floors, along sour green walls, through Muzak air.   Undress me in my doorless room. One button at a time, unfasten my pajama top, unbutton...