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.