Uptown by the Lake



Uptown

I sleep between
the boats in the
harbor and the
shshsh rattling of
the elevated trains
rocking back and forth
floating,
on one side the
eternal hum
of traffic on Lake Shore Drive
and the construction
horn, bleating as if
through thick fog
a new platform
going up at Wilson and Broadway.
To the south, on the
strains of a strong
wind—cheers from
Wrigley Field, and if
evening, the lights
halos of hope, always
hope.
To the north the
coast curves and if
possible, if the sky
is clear and the air
washed clean,
the observatory at Northwestern.
And, in between, the pink
Edgewater, successor
to the famous hotel
demolished—who knows
why?
Between landfill that
extended the shore
that lengthened
the Drive,
between train tracks
abandoned, fused, split
and merged,
constantly changing
but ever the same
the sounds and movements
of Uptown, by the
lake.




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