Saturday, June 23, 2007

numb

His suicide vest was armed with golf-ball-sized hail.
In the woods, I watched them load their rifles
with the-good-and-the-just.
Outside the post office, she left a parcel
packed with 24-7 beneath a mailbox.
While her husband doused Main Street with patriotism
and tossed a match.
My mouth stuck with shame,
I strapped my poems into car seats and drove us all into the lake.

3 Comments:

torch and shovel said...

great! terrorism through cliche, very cool...

June 26, 2007 11:10 AM  
caleb d. said...

hurrah!

June 27, 2007 7:06 AM  
Anonymous said...

hard to feel close to any of this - perhaps that is what this word vehicle is designed to do to the reader -

-Maggie Hall

June 27, 2007 9:12 PM  

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