For Jacob

I write about him sometimes

how he came to group therapy

soaking wet, his button down shirt

soaked through with sweat

the Star of David

hanging from his neck

like the parental expectations

that seemed to

perpetually set him back

mid-twenties, like the rest of us

he was always late

worked some corporate job

and would tell us

that he broke down

on the highway

while driving his car

we would all nod in sympathy

and then he mentioned

the panic attack, the pure

adrenaline that kicked in

when he veered off

onto the shoulder

playing rap music so loud that

his speakers blew out

trying to distract himself

from the sheer hell of himself

I think of him now

maybe as an example

of how we can contain ourselves

so well, until the breaking

point, anxiety like

traffic that doesn't slow

panic seeping into

the very fiber of our clothes