It's spring here on Papalote Mountain
(not to be confused with Wolverton
Mountain)so while I was cleaning out
the garage I found a hand-scrawled
copy this poem which I posted on
my blog awhile back.


Homemade Girl

The sixteen-year-old
Palestinian girl,
bombs strapped

under her breasts
to hide the bulge
walks into the pizza place

and triggers the bomb.
There’s no sound,
no pain.

That was easy,
everything became nothing…
They find pieces of her,

her hair, skin, brain matter
mixed with pizza,
stuck on a chair,

but they find that
her mind
is still intact

and lying on the floor.
Her thoughts
are there

for all to see,
but all of us, every single one of us
looks away

before we
start thinking
what she’s thinking.