Terror can't come to the phone right now.
A bomb ate its homework.
It's sorry it missed you
but it had a hard time
getting the sand and the nails
out of its teeth.
Yes, terror is seeing somebody.
Anyone with a cause, preferably religious.
And, of course it works cheap.
And never whines about
the lack of a pension plan.
Yes, terror needs a roof over its head.
So it lives where it can.
And destroys where it can't.
No, I would not call terror
a romantic.
It doesn't sniff flowers
as much as eviscerate them.
And it has no use for art or music.
Not even sex.
But violence has a hallowed place
in its heart.
Come around if you wish
but terror's kind of picky
about whom it hangs with.
It prefers the company
of all who would not
call it terror.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Orbis, Dalhousie Review and the Round Table. Latest books, “Leaves On Pages” and “Memory Outside The Head” are available through Amazon.