Don't Think of Others

 

by Michael Robins

 

 

 

I had numerous things growing up 

 

& figured out. My left hand easily

 

 

traced perspective, multiplication 

 

fed the number snug inside its box.

 

 

Mudflows bore cribs from houses 

 

into bridges & I regularly confused

 

 

such strange intuitions as audacity 

 

with living. Scribbled in childhood

 

 

& sought praise. Respect for letters 

 

helped until the space shuttle blew

 

 

confetti everywhere. I was smarter 

 

than a freeway south, mesmerized

 

 

inside the billows of flattened cars 

 

stratified so, then my constitution

 

 

took a liking to worry. I was reflex 

 

& urgent, prioritized the future life

 

 

to fathom how & when best friends 

 

propelled their yards away for good.