In Memoriam, Bhenazir Bhutto

BEIRUT ASSASSIN LEAVES MARK

The cocks were storm-crowing that morning
after a real long spell of total
environmental darkness.
Two broughams sped by.

(In the land of the prophets
angels speak while elsewhere
people pretend not to notice
it is the status quo.)

The clocks whirred with quick sighs
toward sunset's rosey end,
and lovers sealed Valentines
with moist lips and inspirations.
Bouquets sailed to and fro
that day, one lover after another.


Then, everything just stopped.
Windows fell apart and people ran
home, started looking.
Zoom in, zoom out, zoom in, zoom out.
I looked at my watch to note
schools and airports, avenues named:
for Lincoln, Lumumba, for JFK.

The shades lingered,moved
quietly on the horizon
and the same herd of goats
crossed my path twice.
No more luck, no more money,
no more beadsmen.
The predictions are keen to usurp everyone
and the last unlucky man born will tremble
near a pitcher of water and a set of lost keys.
The invocations quiet the kinfolk
and the rich sleep ever closer
but it does take some time, perhaps forever.
The poor remain indifferent.

One man was found
two weeks later in the rubble,
pointing in one direction and holding his cell.
No one called out the dogs
because it is said the canines eat
the corpses of Sabra and Shatilla.

I wonder.. to whom was he speaking,
where was he pointing?