River

The city explodes every morning you leave it. On the train you watch the buildings in Harlem catch fire in the glare of the sun. Steel melt like cheap mascara. Fire escapes vanish into asphalt. Bricks undo their jigsaw. Everything around you crumbles like faith. The screams crash through your headphones. You want to come back later, touch the char, read their stories off your hand like newspaper ink. But instead you hope the ground will open up and swallow them whole before they realize they have nowhere to go. In their white noise and toasty air you close your eyes. You go to sleep. There’s nothing you can do anyway.