PLAYING WITH BOMBS (August Postcard Poem 2017)

He inhales helium from the red balloon,

the girdle of gas cinching his vocal chords,

strangling his bass two octaves higher.


His laugh becomes reminiscent

of a vintage cartoon character,

boiled in vermouth,

trapped in the mountains of Tibet.


He summons forth chuckles,

maniacal laughter,

exhales them back into the red latex sphere.


Soon he has a bouquet

of twenty-three balloons,

all of them red,

each filled with pleasure.


Riding his bicycle

to the barbed-wire barricade,

he floats them all free

over a nation held hostage.


Bullets assassinate all the balloons

as if they were hearts

meant to be lost.


He smiles to himself

as he bicycles away.

Laughter rains down for weeks

bringing strange peace.


Copyright 2017

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