extraterrestrial at the lakefront

a poem for when you're alone yet surrounded

Chicago has a great lake.

There’s a painting hanging
right in the Art Institute that says so,
that proves it.

Let it be known
that on Wednesday, June 19, 2024,
there was a heat wave
threatening to break
& that evening,
everyone seemed to be 
at that great lake.

Everyone — all the humans —

solo women power-walking
a shirtless tattooed man, his dog off-leash
Black teenagers laughing 
white people playing Uno & cracking open cans
of Lagunitas & LaCroix
brown boys in their boxers, diving in
a dude in a Cubs jersey, yelling at a woman —
what did I say?! WHAT DID I SAY?! —
3 older Polish ladies huddled around a phone, 
giggling like teenage girls
an older man fishing, untangling his rod, sublime
not 5 feet away from a young woman, 
white bodysuit & flowered denim shorts
sitting at the water’s edge
holding her knees, gazing,
maybe heartbroken or maybe serene 
or maybe anything at all

Meanwhile,
a couple nearby shares a joint
& stare at the water, too,
near an extremely pale blonde woman,
slip dress & heavy makeup, holding a book,
MANUFACTURING CONSENT 
delicately with thin hands
& possibly casting a spell
as another pretty woman,
lavender bikini, ignores
the open Mary Oliver next to her 
as she squints at her phone —
more white people, or the same ones,
it’s unclear;
girls in bikinis
boys standing shirtless,
backs to the water
as if they have something
great, something grand,
to say —
I slow down, to wait for it
& yet
I don’t hear
a thing
worth
noting. 

So I move to a new path
away from the human activity
away enough
that I cross paths with a raccoon
as startled to see me
as I am to see him —
We both pause,
staring
waiting 
for the other
to make a move.
The two of us,
out of our element,
exactly in it.
I consider yelling at it:
what did I say? 
WHAT DID I SAY?!

Just to see if something will happen.
We are both waiting for something to happen.
The raccoon holds court.

& so the extraterrestrial
backs up
slowly, 
then turns to
head back to her car. 

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