By Jared Harél

How many episodes have I taken in
while running nowhere at my local gym?
How many scenes made hypnotic on mute—
canned techno thumping on repeat—
while heaving free weights toward a drop ceilinged sky?
Three wiccan sisters vaporize bad guys
in butterfly hairclips and low-cut tops
tipped lower to boost ratings in later years.
How I strain to believe my years are charmed too.
That this body will hold, my kids remain close,
settle nearby. That our souls won’t sink
under rising tides or some fiery apocalypse.
Before long, a vortex will materialize,
whooshing a demon back from whence
he came. Shannen Doherty will resurrect
her signature arctic smirk as the sisters embrace
beneath a Venetian chandelier. Soon,
I’ll quit half-assing it on the elliptical.
I will spritz and wipe my insectile machine,
feeling a sort of dreamy relief as I labor
past the check-in desk, those energy drinks
lined like plutonium. Did Holly Marie Combs
just freeze time from her kitchen island?
Will Alyssa Milano escape the Underworld at last?
Endless questions, yet my kids have soccer
practice, piano lessons, playdates. My kids have lives
and I am their chauffeur, making sure
they wear seatbelts, asking about their days
as late-afternoon glistens our windshield,
as turkey vultures swoop from storm-
splintered limbs, as the crossing guard waves
us on with not a glance at even one
of the eleven planes of existence.
Still, we pass safely. Red lights in the air.

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Jared Harél’s poetry collection, Let Our Bodies Change the Subject (Nebraska, 2023) was selected by Kwame Dawes as the Winner of the Prairie Schooner Raz/Shumaker Book Prize. He has been awarded the Stanley Kunitz Memorial Prize from American Poetry Review and the William Matthews Prize from Asheville Poetry Review. He lives with his family in Westchester, New York. Jaredharel.com