Wednesday, 6 May 2009

Poem : The day God wore a little dress

Mushrooms eclipsing neighbouring streets 

Buildings and cars, commuters and 

People exchanging dollars for newspapers or

Doughnuts exploding on shirt collars

Running for refuge in nearby corners, under coats, clothes 

Reserving air from the smoke

As it seizes its immediate path, like dense liquid to a container

Submerging the nearest stranger

Through the red gossamer glow, hermetic and unmoved by events as

The lights turn nonchalantly from amber to green  

“Did you see that plane?” one says

“Oh my god!” in repost

The cost of life is invaluable, insurmountable

As families crumble like steel

Now malleable and brittle under the searing scorn of that concrete New York sun

“Terrorist hijackers, what have they done?” Another asks disbelieving 

Whilst watching panic flapping

Its arms where once was calm

The hot dog stall is unmanned and overturned

Bits of bodies with mustard in baps 

“Where is God?” Another asks

As disassembled limbs slap on tarmac

“We’re under attack!”

Grey smog clings, unfettered, to any substance

Clouding vision but clarifying judgement, empirical

Whilst the world swirls with polka dots and striped socks

A girl in a dress is pulled from the rubble. A miracle, 

To think she’s intact. “Here is God at last!” a woman shouts

With peace of mind that is otherwise in pieces, like imploded panes of glass.

But should I feel bad, for finding amusement through dusty internal organs?

For a miracle to have occurred, people would emerge 

Unscathed from ground zero and

Brush the concrete from their clothes and go home.

The life of the girl I’ll take as a tonic, 

But miracle it is not

Perhaps Allah is just as incompetent

Or maybe Our Father was being ironic.

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