The Bombing Will Begin in Five Minutes

the wind flew away and the sea turned to glass,

a final tacit moment settled the trees.

The grown-ups stopped living and nobody died

but sat near the window or stood on the walk

as tally marks filled the chambers of their hearts.

The children heard the siren and left their play

and dashed past the church to the edge of town

where old Mr. Mack with the whirligig eyes

picked up a ball of petrified hedgehog

and played them toccatas on its spines like a jaw-harp:

a three-minute dance where nobody frowned.