Athens, Georgia, USA
A suicide car bomber shook Beirut on Monday During the World Cup match;
The explosion wounded five people gathered At a nearby cafe to watch the game.
Or was it nineteen?
It depends on which newspaper you read. Heavy beads of water beat against the window As she peers through the computer screen portal Into a world that used to be her own.
Brazil beat Cameroon four to one.
A man runs out of the wreckage
Carrying a little girl.
Her pink -shoed feet dangle off his arm.
Or did the blood from her lacerated face
Find its way down to her feet?
Another man running —
Goooooooal! blasts on replay as
Neymar gets the ball in; Brazil is in the lead. The man looks ahead,
Eyes staring into nothing,
As if he does not feel the weight
Of the woman screaming
In his arms.
Parts of his red shirt are white.
Would the dry Beirut summer leave
The rubble sizzling in the sun
And crisped brown stains on the sidewalk? Two World Cups ago The Italians celebrated their victory
While fighting raged in the South. Everyday numbers that meant nothing Because we couldn’t see their faces Didn’t stop us from going to the pub, Or shopping, or to the sea.
Hey, we have to live, right?
We watched from our balconies Flashing lights like a stroboscope
At Naji Gebran’s Civil War, beachfront, Musical therapy
Times haven’t changed,
And we don’t intend to.
A people’s got to live,
And you’re never more alive
Than when death can’t