"Wrong Place, Wrong Time” by Amy Irish

On the day after another daily errand
lays a body in the path of a bullet—

On the day after observing the synchronicity
of fatality, the ballet of broken fate—

By which I mean today, by which I mean
every day since I was born—today

I chart out where my body is safe
and make a treasure map without an X.

Today I see at every intersection
the bullets have the right of way.

Today my chest feels empty, a hollow
home for a bullet, waiting to be claimed.

So I’ll go about my daily errands
knowing that someday I’ll be blessed

With the thoughts and prayers of dismissal—
wrong place, wrong time.

Knowing that the bullet’s path was mapped
on a coroner’s report long ago

On a form pre-printed to save time
for every homicide, details unchanged

And only the name left blank. So today
when I run to the store, school, bank,

I’ll lay my body down at every mundane place
And wait. Knowing that each is preordained

By our human impulse towards the inhumane,
our daily re-enactment of the grave.

About Amy Irish
She/Her/Hers

Amy Wray Irish grew up near Chicago, received her MFA from the University of Notre Dame, then fled the Midwest for Colorado sunshine. She has been published in Spit Poet Zine and Thought for Food; she has work upcoming in Progenitor and Chiaroscuro. Her third chapbook, Breathing Fire, won the 2020 Fledge Competition and is now available from MiddleCreek Publishing. For more information go to amywrayirish.com.