Brooklyn. Even in the rain with the attendant rhythmic
swoosh and hiss of cars, I can hear the chirps
of tiny brown birds as they hop on trashcan lids
and peck in a frantic cluster around a bright yellow
hamburger wrapper for the remnants of a bun, I imagine.
There's so much in the news lately about
parallel universes that I'm intrigued
and slightly baffled that another me, writing
this, is sitting by a window watching birds in another
Brooklyn, while two of you
read this from similar chairs. Too bad we can't all hang out.
I'll address the other one of you while the one
writing this wonders: who thought to write this first?
Still, people outside walk to work while aligning themselves
perfectly with the earth's core, their heads pointing
into space at all sorts of angles in accordance
with the curve of the earth.