Dare
By Nate Klug
Not, this time, to infer
but to wait you out
between regret and parking lot
somewhere in the day
like a dare
Salt grime and the foodcarts’
rising steam, at Prospect St. a goshawk
huge and aloof, picking at something,
nested in twigs and police tape
for a while we all
held our phones up
It is relentless, the suddenness
of every other
song, creature, neighbor
as though this life
would prove you
only by turning into itself
