right hand pointing

K a t i e   L o n g o f o n o

 

Explosive Ordinance Disposal

 

It comes down to fire or bombs 

and he chose bombs, which grow 

from fire, anyway. He'll stay 

down south to deconstruct 

wires. He says he'll look 

for them while he's swimming. 

I thought he said sleeping— 

he says he'll do that, too. 

 

He's printing a clock across his chest 

even though explosives today 

don't really look like that. 

One day he'll hit zero 

and infinity, spiral in a cloud 

of dust and bone. I'm glad 

I'm not in love with somebody 

like him. I need a body 

that lives, not the promise 

of a steady burn.