Was that noise thunder or a bomb?
Don’t sell the children fireworks any more -
It’s all too real and no longer exciting.
Who is more alone than the fearful in the center of a crowd,
Where the brave go willingly and the timid feel trapped.
The price of fun becomes exorbitant with risk.
Fields of flowers sprout up on sidewalks,
Marking all the places where what’s ordinary died,
And wilting in the waiting time for episode the next.
Is this an earthquake or a bomb?
Normality explodes itself in front of those soon dead
And leaves the terrified to gather up the pieces.
Are we become like punch-drunk fighters
No longer noticing the blows as we fall down and get back up again.
Is the fifteenth hit less painful than the first?
A swarthy face is really just a face-
Who paints suspicion on its brow -
And must a head scarf cover more than only hair?
Was that a sonic boom or perhaps another bomb?
You can’t enjoy the sunsets when you’re scanning for
A parcel or a backpack left behind.
One and all, we’re victims of the blasts -
Staggering and dazed with confusion and despair
As we search for safety in a world gone mad with hate.
What is the awful hierarchy of those who lost a love?
Does it become a contest as to who has lost the most
And no one is declared the winner.
ljm
I wrote this in 2016 and things have not gotten any better.