Air Show

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.