9/11 Poem from London
by Michael Brett

Tomorrow, it will all run backwards.

The steel tsunamis will froth back upwards
And become solid.
The planes will be pulled out like javelins
And slide backwards, swallowing their vapour trails.

Tomorrow, everyone will be fine.

Tomorrow, everyone who died will come home.
They will sit again at the tables of home
And rejoin life's fellowship, its snapshots, tea
And picnics.

Tomorrow, all will be well.

Everyone will sleep as babies do under mobiles,
Untroubled by strange sounds, of aero engines
Flying too low and shadows over the streets.

Tomorrow, mobile phones will be just toys again.
The sky will be clear, blue, unbroken.

Copyright © 2009 - Michael Brett
Published: 12/31/09   ·  Author's Page   ·  Next Poem