the city that built the bomb
I remember the fight to keep you --
over gristled grilled cheese, blistered and black,
as thought it had been cooked on the griddle of the street.
You were a man from a mechanized city churning
in the desert --
like the city that built the bomb.
You toiled at a task you didn't understand, snapping and pulling
away from me
between bites of melted gold.
wanted to wrap you in clean white sheets and
wanted to cover your hard metal eyes and
wanted to drown the day in ice, but
hesitated, suspended --
like the city that built the bomb -- by nightmares
of keeping a rattlesnake for a pet,
of waking up in fallout.