 Right, I'm the messenger for Abby. Her poem is Ideal Cities after Erika Meitner. In Ideal Cities, people swing down sidewalks singing, and everywhere is wheel accessible. I stroll side by side with my friend Jonah as he maneuvers his chair, and no one stares or pushes to get ahead. In my Ideal City, the beggar on the corner remembers my name and gives me a quarter. He smiles and shows me his perfect white teeth. Kids give their bus seats to Chinese women holding plastic baskets of cabbage and fish. In Ideal Cities, artists chalk sidewalks with color. And as an ocean sweeps the sand of sandcastles, morning rains wash them clean. All coffee is fair trade. All toys are made by adults who love to play. All eggs come from free-range chickens, and all food is free of poison. In my Ideal City, the mentally ill are given clean apartments with carefully folded clean clothes and whatever services they need. In my Ideal City, women walk alone at night with their telescopes, sit in misty parks, marvel, and howl at the haloed moon. In my Ideal City, there's a museum showing what no longer exists, guns, gas stations, cigarettes, nuclear power plants, shopping cart homes, skeletal babies with tight swollen bellies. In my Ideal City, everyone listens to silence.