Suicide bomber

Every morning I get up Kamikaze style: I stand in front of the mirror
Washing soapsuds off my chin; I dress

With dirty bombs wired through my belt; two plastics in my ears and
Two up my nose.

Must keep head low.
A suicide

Pill snugged safely under tongue. (So now you see: words do kill
And it really would kill me to talk about the weather)

    Ra-ta-ta-ta-ra-ya!
    Ra-ta-ta-ta-ra-ya!

There is always another means to human warmth. I pick up my coat and
Umbrella by the storing room, which was a reading room just two

Years ago, then with my stiff pale hand, I chuck it cold
In my pocket with the house keys—

Very angry like a revolver.
I go to work by the car or the bus or the sub, stepping up

To my designated spot. There is always another train to board, another
Rail to follow.

    Ra-ta-ta-ta-ra-ya!
    Ra-ta-ta-ta-ra-ya!

A silver track extending from one mouth to another. A day's worth.
I head home. Disarm

And reclaim my lighter shadow by the door. I remove the plastics from 
My ears and clear my nose so that

I may hear again. Listen to the words of today's news report: a failed
Attempt to end the world. A silent retreat.

We all live. We all wake up again tomorrow dry like throats, with
Soapsuds still on faces. A voice sings from afar.

    Ra-ta-ta-ta-ra-ya!
    Ra-ta-ta-ta-ra-ya!

Dale Chou
2012-12-22