Chernobyl
Brandon Cook
I watched a miniseries on Chernobyl
That terrifying tragedy which reminds us that death is many-faced and deathless
And that, as if this world needed more terrors, it finds new ways to mask its visage, invisible to us as atoms
What I will remember most is the young woman just in harm’s way on the highway,
Unknowing, when ignorance is no bliss,
While what rains down is the darkest kiss
She stands beside a broken bike, her beau tugging at the engine, as any of us might in hazy spring heat—
Leaning on a wall, to save her feet
A cigarette dangling from her fingers
The angle of it the protracted protest
Of a bored woman not at all enjoying the delays in this impatient world
I imagined, then, what would’ve happened if they found out that radiation was falling all about
I see them scramble in a mad dash through the green spring
To safety
Running if they might to outstrip the wind itself
To hold onto dear and precious life, catching breath
All so
They could resume, somewhere, that languorous sighing
The inhaling of smoke
And the boredom of fixing all the broken things
Arguing beneath a tired headboard
Waiting for some great thing to happen