A nondescript refugee hides among crowds from the south
and walks into the concert hall, a face
to identify which the gendarmes have not yet contrived
methods of recognition. Something about the mouth
infects those around him with brute ideology.
His bullets go flying. In the disgrace
of his suicide vest he affronts a city
whose solemn and resolute future has just arrived.
(Based on W H Auden’s 1938 poem Gare du Midi)
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This post was written by John Gohorry