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.