Poetry Report: Syria Decisions
“I pick a bomb up
and hold it to my ear”
Syria. Decisions. Decisions.
+ + +
About to Go Off
I wake up
and the room is full of bombs:
torpedo shapes and missile shapes,
fins and no fins,
cold and quiet.
"Where do you want this one?"
says a guy in overalls,
suddenly at my doorway,
holding a smaller bomb
like a steel baby.
"I didn't order these," I say.
"You don't order bombs," says the guy,
"They're just delivered."
"I have bowling, tonight," I say,
"What the hell?"
"Yeah, what the hell," he says.
I pick a bomb up
and hold it to my ear
as if something inside
might tell me what to do
with this fucking thing.
+ + +