Lake Sonnet

by Michael Dean

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across sheridan the refractions were dancing velvet dusk in michigan
& from the hexagonal crown of drenched august ground i watched

the birmingham boys that thumped frat boy hip-hop out their daddy’s
car’s windows. that jeered me next to my high school.                me:

navy shorts, skate shoes, face overflowing with summer, probably a t-shirt,
longboard-propped-on-the-left-leg, slender hand shooing flower flies

what must they have seen?                a brown arm gesticulating to the rhythms
of rhyme-rippled air?         their voices burr-spurred words lacing tongues

with delicate cream ribbons                like when they say they understand my poetry
or like the history they’ve surely absolved when              they wish they had my hair.

                               & i watch the lake, who has now revealed itself to me,
in a gracious settling of gravity:                             i see

how the waves are embracing the seawall as if invited
how it is undisturbed, lacquered with black moonlight.

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Michael Dean is a poet based in Chicago. They are pursuing an M.A. in Writing and Publishing at DePaul University. When they are not in class, they enjoy watching Lake Michigan at night and collecting new words.