IX

SHELL

I move on in anger. If there is a place

in an afterlife for good people,

for those I see in their last

breathing moments, may they live well

and smile and laugh again in that Empyrean.

And may Beatrice be their guide.

And be there a place reserved

in a deeper hotter rock-strewn

jackal-populated hell

for those who did this.

I stare in awe at the burning towers,

spewing one life and another

and another carelessly.

If not now, when do I shed a tear?

When do I grieve, when do I mourn

for lives lost, when do I care

for a fallen man, if not now?