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.
And I
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.
1 comment:
hot DAMN can you write!
I loooooove the grittiness.
I've lately been wanting to dip back into poetry.
this makes me excited about that.
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