He went to the Art Institute
having lunch once in a while
in the courtyard
before he met her.
He went to the Field Museum
and the Museum of Science
and Industry
before he met her.
He browsed art fairs —
on occasion purchasing
something that caught
his eye
before he met her.
He frequented art galleries
before he met her.
He dug out and kept
a large, charcoal
drawing of a female nude
from the waste bin in
the art department of his
college
before he met her.
He went to the Oriental
Museum
before he met her.
He went downtown on the IC,
ate at Stouffer’s with
the bright green peas and
Berghoff’s where he listened
to men discussing business
over martinis
before he met her.
He stared at the Christmas
decorations in
the windows
of Marshall Fields
before he met her.
He walked around
Buckingham Fountain
during the day and at
night when the colored
lights were on
before he met her.
He stared at the skyline
from the planetarium
before he met her.
He stood by the huge boulders
protecting the extended
land from the waves of
Lake Michigan
before he met her,
but because she was an artist,
and just seemed to come
alive when they visited
the city
their children would never
appreciate any of this.
She derided him as being
a mere “suburban” boy to her
sophisticated “city” girl.
The children listened to her.
Now she’s gone and
he can never set the
record straight
as if he ever could
have.