Had he been riding the moped,
Of which there was now little left?
From behind my taxi window,
Cocooned in sweetly freshened air,
I imagined the pain and death
And the relatives, all bereft.
Peering out, I could see him, sprawled,
Bloody, like meat. ‘Airport soon, sir’
Announced the driver. Soon I'm gone
From this unyielding, lethal place,
Flying home through thin-aired space.
My tenth time here, but I don’t know
The grim routine beyond these doors;
Just hotel rooms and jet planes’ roars.