After the
City Council building burned, it was
me who worked
tirelessly to raise funds for its
replacement.
To get all the divergent factions
to agree
on an architect, a site plan, and
a vision.
When I unveiled the models, people
swooned and cheered
and said I was building a temple
to justice.
At the last minute, who swept in with
his gnarled claws?
In the rotunda, there’s a portrait.
Enshrined in
oils, The Titans of Spoon River.
Deegan first,
of course. Garrity, Sheaffer, even
Don Howard.
That building was my conception, my
monument,
my whole life, cast in steel and in stone.
But my name?
My name is nowhere to be found there.