Until I was born again Bombs The ViewUntil I was born again You and I and our secret language No Arc of the Covenant this We sheltered under the bough of our parents’ love and traveled to the Sicily of our minds Where the visible heat rose up, crackling stones No, no Arc of the Covenant this Dido’s impotent rage no match for Aeneas’ treacly sweetness, My fallow countenance no match for your handy sleights, and so you murdered me Over and over and over and over – Matt Greco Bombs Bombs are a great thing They really are for show If you threaten to drop them You never have to go In theory to war And you don’t send your boys To be blown up like fodder Pretending they are toys – Carol Van Lehel, writing about Kosovo The View I live in a brownstone on Garden My apartment is on the top floor When it’s clear, I can see New York’s skyline And sometimes I see even more Across from my place is a building In which friendly people reside On the third floor the curtains are open And at night I can look right inside There’s a nice-looking young man who lives there He watches TV for a while Then he disappears into the back room He returns wearing only a smile He crosses in front of the window Back and forth, back and forth he will go I suspect that he knows I am watching ‘Cuz he puts on one heck of a show Some nights are more special than others He might wiggle or jiggle or dance He may stretch if I really get lucky Which throws me into a deep trance I can’t say that I ever have met him Which really is okay with me I should think we would both be embarrassed It would ruin the sweet mystery I’m sure glad that I live in Hoboken There’s always some fun thing to do And although I may vent ’bout the high cost of rent I sure am enjoying the view – A voyeur