Morning gets angry and destroys a city
not New York, too obvious, but suppose
it’s on the coast. Suppose we’re the first to go
I picture Goya’s Colossus and my empathy
runs threadbare. Suppose I notice the raw meat
of his back and fall in love. Suppose
there are too few Armageddon songs
about giants. The Norse, I suppose,
and Nephilim, okay, fine, so suppose
what I want are more movies: Colossus
staring Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson
we’d see it in dim theatres, giant screen
and afterward, step into the parking garage’s
echo and oilslick, a perspective behind concrete
and absence of concrete, brutalists framing
for the aftermath of Morning, or giant
or indifference—our skyline swapped
with fields of dandelion left unattended
