Issue > Poetry
City by the Bay
A friend brines
red cuts of
supermarket coho
in a silver bowl.
He no longer makes
the mile hike to see
beyond the antique
army barracks
the bay and mountains.
Tonight, too much
Rainier, he realizes he's already
compared industrial sunsets,
Tacoma to Gary.
We go silent under
waves cresting and dissolving
on the machine upstairs
that lets his baby sleep.