The residents of Chicago’s north side
Gather in thousands on the
stepped rocks
Which form the western coast of
Lake Michigan.
The bright sky is a perfect
frame
For the airplanes that will
spend the next hours
Cruising up and down the coast,
Displaying the prowess of human
technology.
As I stand among the milling
thousands,
Joggers, bikers, and
rollerbladers flow past me.
I wonder, is it like this with
the walruses?
Do the caribou gather similarly
at the river’s edge?
Are the penguins festive in
their tuxedos
Among the rocks and sprays of
mist?
Look what nature has made!
Consider the beautiful bipeds
Who populate this place.
The sleek green grass,
The sky-scrapers,
The planes and boats and trees;
All are manifestations of a
single nature.
There are children crying
beautifully
In their bright clothes,
With bright sherbet smeared
Over their beautiful faces.
We hear the whine of the single
engines.
Five winged biplanes parade past
in formation,
Bright scarves of smoke trailing
behind them.
Off shore the water is filled
with boats and crafts.
Jet skiers dip between the rocks
near shore.
The sunbather’s pink lip gloss
Beacons my attention to her
beauty,
Outstanding against the bright
blue water.
Later the jet fighters take the
stage.
We cannot hear them approach.
They flash by with a deafening
boom,
So low the water is seared
smooth beneath them.
As the sun looms low behind the
city,
The air begins to team with
swallows
And dragonflies who gather to
feed
At the edge of the lake.
At one spot they are thick
around our heads.
Buzzing and roaring past,
The wings of the huge insects
shimmer
And whir past me in red and
purple smudges.
I swear some of them have on
pilot’s goggles
And wear little leather helmets
over their interiors.
They buzz loud around me,
Zipping past at astonishing
speeds.
The swallows are stealthy and
full of verve.
They swoosh and circle in brown
blurs.
They look small and fat in the
air.
I do not know why they can fly
at all,
Like winged puffer fish bobbing
in the breeze.
Now colors begin to rise on the
eastern horizon.
Bright oranges and reds spread
in a slow explosion.
As the sun falls down behind us
Colors deepen and rise in violet
over the lake.
At dusk I return from the
water’s edge.
All the children are dirty and
thirsty.
The breeze blows warm between
the thousands
Who meander back to their
apartments.
