Sheila

If the world were run by children, we would have dropped a stink bomb on Hiroshima instead. If the world were run by teenagers, it would have been an f-bomb. But the world is run by adults and it was an a-bomb. If, say, fruit ran the world, it would have been a cherry bomb. If plumbing were in charge, they would have dropped a pipe bomb, And if music ran the world, only the jangling, confetti-and-noisemakers festivity of La Bamba would have assaulted the ears of the inhabitants of Hiroshima. But the politicians had their way, pushed a button, stopped the buck right then and there: The belly of the plane opened, a seed grew into a mushroom, the eyes of the city widened, then shut. And even though cherry blossoms are beautiful, they'll never truly make it better. These days, you can make bombs from just about anything - drain cleaner, orange juice, antifreeze, breakfast cereal; the list goes on and on; There’s nothing that can't be an ingredient in a bomb - the Big Bang is proof of that. There’s nothing that can't help topple a building or swipe a nasty chunk from someone's face, or kill them. You name it - a shoelace, a drinking straw, a flower, The clothes on your back and the words in your throat - they can all be bombs; Repressed desires, haunting memories, stagnating dreams - don't think for a minute that they can't. Seed and moss bombs Truth and beauty bombs You and me bombs Us and them bombs We can make enough bombs to crumble every wall in the world; I know this for a fact because the walls themselves can become bombs and aid in their own destruction. Right now, though, in Hiroshima, street artists bring green to deserted lots and dingy alleys with grow-anywhere seed bombs; Young men and women celebrate birthdays and promotions and Fridays over ringing glasses of sake bombs. At its most basic, a bomb is a build-up and release, a catalyst for change, beneficial or brutal A bomb is every one of us A bomb is here A bomb is now