Windy: above the pizza joint,
mid-bite, red-checked tissue flapping on the plate,
the eye is drawn upwards.
Trash, surely—but then two pigeons come
into relief, soaring against the building.
Perhaps because I have no children,
the idea of nuclear war doesn’t bother me much.
Pigeons would survive,
and Artemis, rounding the moon.
Nora Rawn’s work has appeared in Be About It Press, Michigan City Review of Books, The Bulb Region, Dodo Eraser, Some Words, Hawkeye Magazine, and Dreck Lit.