television

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i

it could be a film

run with the soundtrack
and the widescreen banner
of a seventies action movie

but it was live
just a little while ago

read the sepiaed footage

a network of dribbles and webs
puddles and pocks
marks the seats
pools the floor
flows out
onto the ground

there are no bodies
no trace belongings

the killers have left
faces swaddled
feet heavy booted

having discharged death
into the body of the bus

women and youths and men
ambushed in the wide sandy ground
backed by huddled rows of houses

ii

whose god is this
he with the twisted face of fury
and the steed that bays for blood

he who’s emerged from the half tones
stretched tall and feral
he who ignites in his minions
zeal for blood

astride its wave
curled back, poised
they bear
gun and knife and club

sightless
they
strip  lash
rend unborn babes
cast into flames
send lead clean
into the brains

of those
whose god goes by
another name