ELA SABE

From the 22nd floor,
walking down the corridor,
looking out the picture window down
on Sycamore.
While perspective lines converge,
rows of cars and buses merge.
All the sweet green trees of Atlanta burst
like little bombs;
or little pom-poms,
shaken by a careless hand
that dries them off
and leaves again.

Life just kind of empties out,
less a deluge than a drought,
less a giant mushroom cloud
than an unexploded shell
inside a cell
of the Lennox Hotel.

On the 22nd floor —
found a notice on my door.
While outside, the sun is shining on
those little bombs —
those little pom-poms.

Life just kind of empties out,
less a deluge than a drought,
less a giant mushroom cloud
than an unexploded shell;
inside a cell
of the Lennox Hotel.

- Aimee Mann, "Little Bombs", in "The Forgotten Arm" (Superego Records/V2, 2005)

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