Somalia on my mind

with Somalia on my mind

totally dazed and confused

i'm pinching my temple

as my eyes are closing

to the momentary truth:

the black arts are hiding in deep shadows.

i go shop to shop

with a bag over my head;

a woman sips her tea

with her middle finger extended.

she inspects a hang nail

that's not made for foreplay.

i feel her scratch.

my forehead is bleeding.

what am i?

my face is missing in action

on a public street

near the harbor where huge cargo ships deploy

and the air smells of rotting fish.

the woman opens my bag

and hands me my face,

which is filled with sharp bones.

with Somalia on my mind

totally dazed and confused

i'm admiring Beauty and a major war Lord

wearing a Medusa face

which is filled with sharp bones,

buying food from the poor street vendors,

and i ask them for a simple bite.

i know them well

from all the international news reports

covering atrocities 

and of course the woman with a hang nail

sits smiling, trying to light a fire.

they all seem much more dangerous in real life.