Bomb (Poetry)
11th August 2006
Some won’t be going home tonight,
their journey stopped mid-sentence, on the way
to work, to shops, their route so everyday
they didn’t dream that anything was wrong
or different — just the usual morning run.
They’ve cordoned off the city, cleared the streets,
ferried all the casualties away,
gathered up the bits of blasted bus,
sifted through the wreck, swept sudden death’s hot dust
from corners, held a sample to the light.
For some it ended there, unscheduled, and the bomb
made a headline of the square, unremarkable before
this morning and the ordinary crawl
through traffic. Nothing sinister at all
to warn them, tip them off, there is a war.
their journey stopped mid-sentence, on the way
to work, to shops, their route so everyday
they didn’t dream that anything was wrong
or different — just the usual morning run.
They’ve cordoned off the city, cleared the streets,
ferried all the casualties away,
gathered up the bits of blasted bus,
sifted through the wreck, swept sudden death’s hot dust
from corners, held a sample to the light.
For some it ended there, unscheduled, and the bomb
made a headline of the square, unremarkable before
this morning and the ordinary crawl
through traffic. Nothing sinister at all
to warn them, tip them off, there is a war.