Everyone Who Goes There Says You Can’t Imagine

Rachel Zucker

Today the pigeons tack
in flocks above the city,

the air crisp, forgetful.

A plume became a cloud
became a plume became a fog,

No! I said to the TV and tried
to hold the whole thing up

before I could say stop
it—did not.

(A sharp waterfall falling.)

The parsimony of living; these
rationed, after-marriage kisses.

A father I know buys potassium chloride,
water, cipro, soup, duct tape.

Another says he'd have stepped over
anyone to find his wife.

The building's mangled corset
cracked femurs, blown out lungs.

We breathe side effects.

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