Timothy Liu
LYRICAL TOURISM AS A FORM OF TERRORISM
Where in the world
can I go
where a suicide
bomber is least
likely to blow
us up is
what I'm thinking
while window shopping
for cheap fares
online while on
sabbatical. Just this
morning someone blew
themselves up behind
the Blue Mosque
near where I
believe I once
splurged on some
steam rising up
through a reticulated
dome carved out
of stone--daylight
filtering back through
in radiant beams
while a man
more than twice
my own weight
walked expertly along
my spine, cracking
me in places
I didn't know
I had, we
who never exchanged
a word, only
looks, hand gestures
issuing easy commands
even a child
could follow, dried
leaves and branches
whipping my back
clean, my piss
cloudy later on
when I stepped
back out into
the world utterly
dazed as I
roamed on through
the Spice Market,
not intending to
buy saffron imported
from Iraq until
I knew what
the going rate
was even when
I was repeatedly
told I was
the day's first
customer and had
earned myself preferential
treatment, would I
like a glass
of tea, Turkish
Delight stacked up
in a pyramid
on a silver
tray, and I
thought: why not,
what harm could
come to us
on a day
just like any other.