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Bombs Keep Falling


by Robert Vaughan



Bombs keep dropping, they keep falling. Like the one that did just the other day

on a holiday. And then today my dead mother called to say hey don't forget from

whose loins you came.

 

Bombs keep blowing this notion called peace into fragmented bits, 

into snapshots and periodicals, right next to the obituaries. 

There's Miss Townsend, 86, next to Akbar, 9.

 

And henny penny said the sky is falling!

And chicken little said it's a bomb, silly, just another bomb.

 

Bombs keep falling:

mazeltov cocktails

 

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