by David Chorlton
Some men walk into a coffee house
with bombs inside their coats
while others stand beside the flag
and watch their bombs explode
on land where only animals reside.
They name their bombs
to give them personality
like cartoon figures from a theme park.
Their tests are dress rehearsals
for the day they say they hope
will never come, but it is marked
on their calendar in ink
as black as the ash
their victims become
just as they answer the telephone
to engage in the inconsequential talk
that invariably comprises
the last words of the innocent.
David Chorlton came to Phoenix in 1978 from Vienna, Austria, after growing up in England and then living in the waltz city for seven years. Arizona made him appreciate nature even more than he had, and this is reflected in much of his writing. His latest chapbook, Places You Can't Reach (Pudding House), owes much to the current administration and its violent ways.
