and green plaid shorts goes strolling br through Juneau Park at eight o’clock br with only a hooded yellow windbreaker br for protection, trawling the bushes after work br br while tugboats crawl the dark freshwater br outlook. Mist coming in not even from a sea, rain br later in the evening from Lake Michigan, a promise br like wait till your father gets home. The air br br is full of fog and botched seductions, reluctance br of early summer to arrive. It’s fifty-five degrees br in June, the bodies can barely be made out br leaning on picnic tables under trees or br br set sentinel like statues along the paths (the founder br corrodes quietly on his pedestal, inscription br effaced under faggots go home). Lips br touched to a public fountain for a passerby br br shape clouded breath into a who-goes-there?, into a br friend-or-foe?, eyes catching eyes like hooks br cast in a shallow tide. Night pouring in like water br into a lock, the rusted freighter lowered level br br to level, banks of the cement canal br on either side, but miles from any dock.