Poem from the perspective of a

You are all kufar
—disbelievers—
those who “cover
up.”
We will run planes
into you.
Get your attention?
You like the brown
skin?  You like
the accent?
You like it on your
TV. You like it
on your cab drivers
on your convenient store
owners—your doctors and
your engineers?
You like it when we build your roads and your bridges and fix your health
While you kill us and you kill us and you kill us and you bomb us
You like it on the faces of the masses
as they huddle under the approaching
fall of bombs like heavy metal rain,
as the children run en masse
enslaved with nowhere to run
to
We will run planes
into
you.