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.