STEPHEN SANDY
Mogadishu, Mon Amour
The wrathful boys must drag it, trussed with rope,
Jigging around their city, thirsty world;
A dusty shape, a body road stones strip.
I budge; wedge breath down; must clamor, must
Find it, the flawed word for that flaunting;
This losing face - body exhibited
And savaged. Sighing for the young dead, I want
Vengeance on vengeful boys whose rage is hurled
On him, on me, taunting with gun and vaunting
Arm. Then woe; the weighted body; lust
(Folded under the last social motion,
Find it sleeping like a dog in sun!) - I want
To be with him, naked body dead;
In secret want the innocent submission.
Air Power Suite
Arching thoughts deny all but perfection
it is true yet the parabola of her smile made us
wonder; her carnations would astonish their banquet.
The feeling was we got down with it, went down;
but someone said - in the privacy of our den,
stale it was, but secure - how she
was a bastard, the bastard. The boss took off
her helmet to hear us, but she didn't because
she couldn't stop talking, and we were safe.
So too were the mobile doves floating around
the conference room above the white table big
as a hockey
rink
and half as dangerous;
