War Zone

by | Mar 10, 2011 | Poetry | 0 comments

A grand piano lies upended, like a seashell,
On a beach of white plaster in a school hall cave
Whose roof has been torn off by the shark bite of a bomb;

And all that there ever was: shot books and magazines,
Like dead birds, lie in empty streets urged by street signs
To Keep Left and Not Drop Litter;

Traffic lights that wink like call girls at burned cars with no tyres
Smashed like glasses on bar top tarmac,
And a tree that jumped like a ballerina in a shell burst skirt
Dangles its roots, like knees, from the twentieth floor;

These voiceless voices, empty shoes and cables
Pulled like nerves out of giant brains, all resolve
Like a maddened symphony’s second movement,
Into the purr of small arms in factory sheds and round street corners;

The zigzag of blood on pavements and children-
In yellow T-shirts-looking for food and parents
In the bins of abandoned hotels.


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