A cell phone is ringing
in the shirt pocket
of a headless corpse.
For a moment
there seems to be
a response,
an involuntary twitch,
an attempt to answer
one last time,
but on the fourth ring
the phone stills.
Outside the bomb shelter
the caller winces,
begins to sob-
it’s her husband she was calling,
she wanted to ask him
how he was,
she never expected
so quick an answer.
The head rests against
the tire
of a ruined Volvo,
the eyes open,
looking at the sky
for answers.
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