Hiroshima is a woman, her expectation
The daily ration,
Survival on short commons
In the safety of an obscure and unimportant city
Nowhere near a battlefield.
Then the universe
Gives her a nudge.
The fireball
Is a red-hot furnace
Slammed directly into her eyes.
The blast
Is a utility pole
Rammed up her privacy.
She has nothing sacred.
She is one big meathook rape,
Helpless to defend herself.
Her back is broken,
Her hair on fire,
Her teeth displaced.
Her nose is a red truncation.
The caprice of demons chortles in her flesh.
She dies in slow eternities,
Forgetting,
As she dies,
The colors black and white,
Her father's name,
And what exactly that it was
Her mother's milk once tasted of.
The cherry blossom will no longer bloom for her.
Dying,
She forgets her very name,
So you, if you so choose,
May give her one of yours.
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