Bridge

Sunlight shimmering on the river water
Leaves me squinty-eyed on a Chicago summer day
The only kind worth a damn in this dreary town
The ladies in their floral dresses
And the men in their short sleeves
Walk briskly toward their midday destinations
While the tourists carefully trace their steps
Speaking in foreign tongues and consulting
Their pocket computers

I take a spot near the Wabash Avenue Bridge
To sip my coffee and let the sun hug my skin
What a lovely day to feel so bereft
An architectural tour boat wades into view
And the guide tells about the building
Where I work, and I wonder whether to wave
It seems like the neighborly thing to be
One more welcoming sight, another
Connection across the skyline

“Yes, I see you down there,” I think, and thrust out my arm
To offer the gentlest, friendliest wave I can conjure
The nonchalant sort that doesn’t beg for notice
Or require any response
But up there go one, two, three hands
Threading the summer wind with their fingers
“Hello,” the hands say as the boat parts the waters
And their owners’ faces become the backs of heads
Yes, they saw me standing up here
With my back to the glass and steel