Controlled Detonation
Near the Tigris’ bend
in fields of figs and grapes,
Balad’s ramparts ascend
from the landscape it misshapes.
Within, stone pillars square
shoulder by shoulder around
us soldiers unaware
of explosives soon unbound.
The Airmen don their suits,
padded as they pray,
slow in steel-toed boots
for fear today’s their day.
Forward they send the drone
to disarm the clever bomb
of a maker that’s unknown,
that sustains the cycle on.
No siren warns the restful,
sleeping from our toil,
as shears snip at a vessel’s
poorly wired coils.
As the continuity fades,
and electrical currents shunt,
a shock jerks toward its grave,
to the earth it interrupts.
We rouse in concrete’s shell
By swell of earth provoked,
Asleep, the sound’s bell,
Awake, a wartime yoke.
The beat against our backs
reminds us of our birth,
when a doctor’s frantic racks
pronounced our violent earth.
We laugh away our dread
while safe within our haven,
as the PA warbles out,
“controlled detonation.”