Monday, April 28, 2008

sunday in the suburbs-August 2006

And I find myself by the water-drawn as always-
Lake Michigan, but not outside my door,
for it is there also, just steps away.
miles north in Wilmette where
peace, quiet, and solitude is the norm-not
chaotic and raucous multitudes as Rogers Park.
Not cultured or diversified either.

Roar of rolling white caps is the predominate sound.
Occasional giggles of children and
the rustle of leaves throughout the abundance of trees.
No mutherfuckers,
no burning scent of weed or
nauseating sour beer;
no Latin drums or African beats or American bumps.
Only multi-colored sails tipping the horizon
and calm serenity.
Even the gulls are screechless.
Mountainous clouds outline the distance
like snowcapped Andes.
Even the parking lot behind is silent.

Wilmette permit required,
I imagine.
I walked in-snuck in
because there was an attendant-
guard was my first word choice-
at the drive gate.
Gate yet-at a park.
Gilson Park.
So I detoured,
nonchalant and discrete,
then cut through the grass with others-
joining in where I didn’t belong yet wanted to be-
so I came. I’ll leave through the gate though
and find answers to all my questions.

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