Bu(llet)s

[JoelJosol]

It was the sort of day I could have ignored, overslept, snored.

Unable to recall, in fact, details of a fall. My phone did not ring,

to wake me up to ordinary challenges of a to-do list. Were the

clouds positioned to assault the sky? Or unable to stay/go?

 

I rush to a bus the moment its doors are air-powered open.

Dozens of us, like a SWAT team, push to get a ride. You can't

hammer your way through windows and climb inside.

That's invoking retaliation, a provocation.

 

Stuck in city traffic jams? Man, this is a whole-day stay in an air-

conditioned bus! That makes angry or hungry or both. Honk the horn.

Get those electronic eyes catch details of inconsequential

conversations but the most important questions-are we there yet?

 

When I got home, the lines between right and just were blurred by

hungry stomachs, base by Maslow's hierarchy of needs. And so it was.

The rain was a precedent. It poured outside like a hail of bullets piercing

the strong glass window of a tourist bus.

 

* It has been a while. This tragic hostage taking of Hong Kong tourists in Manila and the local police response inspired me to write this piece.

Edited September 22, 2010 by JoelJosol

[rumisong]

I liked this bit especially:

 

When I got home, the lines between right and just were blurred by

hungry stomachs, base by Maslow's hierarchy of needs. And so it was.

The rain was a precedent. It poured outside like a hail of bullets

 

 

Im fascinated by this work-

 

I read some of the account online yesterday, of the incident you refer to here- to get some background I didnt have-

 

and, so, I see in this poem the use of the language of the incident: hail of bullets, swat, assault, push, hammer etc. but it seems to be speaking more about the daily grind, the "to do list" bit of our lives- and leaving out any strong singular reaction to the emotions of the incident itself- as if those emotions have been buried now, and yet are still there in the outlook- so its "back to work/life" as usual, and we really wont talk about what such an event leaves us with, riding a bus everyday, remembering this news event...

 

and so, the poem seems to take these emotions and in a subtle/not-at-all-subtle way, infusing them into a description of the daily drudge...

 

this was effective-

 

I was in Maryland a month AFTER they caught the DC sniper- I was visiting a bunch of friends there who had just lived through a month of this IN their very lives! and, even that the guy was caught, and I was up here safe in New England all that time, being down there- I could FEEL it, the fear, the sensitivity, the what-if, in my own body... AFTER he was caught- this mind-body thing still runs on memory-as-hyper-vigilance, at just knowing about it as a news event.

[tonyv]

I like it a lot, Joel. When I read this poem, I get the same unsettled feeling I get when I watch something like Final Destination 2, a film, a work of art. But that's just a work of fiction. Yours is a real life event ramped up to art.

 

Tony

[JoelJosol]

Thanks, rumisong and tony.

 

After it happened, I asked myself, how can I use poetry to make a statement about such tragedies? I didn't want to dwell on the tragedy itself in a direct sort of way. I'm glad it is still effective.